


Ours Could Have Been A Horrible Tale

by Neliore



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Discipline, Edging, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay, Punishment, Rough Sex, Rutting, Sorry Not Sorry, Spanking, Whipping, power bottom Theon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neliore/pseuds/Neliore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon's had enough of Theon's teasing and has come up with a great plan to teach him a lesson. It backfires spectacularly, but it's not all that horrible in the end.<br/>Chapter 2: Jon tries to push Theon out of his mind. But it's proving to be harder than he thought. Especially when Theon smells so nice and is not being a total dick.<br/>Chapter 3: Theon thinks he knows what he's doing, but is it enough to have Jon where he wants him?<br/>Chapter 4: Theon has a plan, and, hopefully, unlike Jon's plan from the first chapter, this one will work.<br/>Chapter 5: If Jon is the one truly in charge, why does he always feel so powerless?<br/>Chapter 6: Yet another thing Jon and Theon can bond over<br/>Chapter 7: The beheading<br/>Chapter 8: Theon's morning after and surprises it brings<br/>Chapter 9: Jon tries to explain his reasons, but some things are not so easily said<br/>Chapter 10: If he loved you, he would stay</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Fall Down Just To Give You A Thrill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonsnowsmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsnowsmile/gifts).



> This is for [jonsnowsmile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsnowsmile/pseuds/jonsnowsmile) . She is one of my most faithful readers and her wonderful comments warm my heart and make me smile. One of them, on a chapter of another fic I wrote, requested some harsh spanking for the boys. I couldn't do it then as it really wasn't part of that story, but that comment inspired this. There you go, love, this is for you, I hope you like it <3 
> 
> I am truly blessed, I have not one, but two most wonderful girls chasing my mistakes, polishing my clumsy style and comforting me when I'm freaking out and fretting over the filth I write. [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) baby, you are the best and I can never thank you enough. [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) dear, your help is invaluable and I doubt I will ever find the words to express just how much. I love you both <3
> 
> Feedback is always welcome, don't be shy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the lyrics to the song I Think I'm Paranoid by Garbage

Jon tried to ignore it, he really did. And for so long. But, if there was one thing Theon Greyjoy excelled at, it was pushing Jon's buttons. He enjoyed irritating Jon, provoking his anger, then delighted in watching him trying to control himself and not punch him in the face. True, during sword practice it wasn't too difficult to sneak one nasty hit or two under the guise of training, but despite being a less skilled swordsman, Greyjoy's agility at avoiding blows grew proportionally with his ability to irk Jon right out of his mind.

And this day, he has outdone himself. They are sparring, and a sudden gust of wind brings Jon's hair straight to his eyes. Naturally, he tries to shake it away, and Theon uses that moment to strike him. Then he bursts out laughing.

"Would you like a comb for that? When all else fails, use your girly charms, Snow. Hell, you fight like a girl anyway," his father's ward sneers, before he exaggeratedly blows him a mock kiss.

The few kitchen maids watching from the side giggle out loud seeing that, and Jon feels his cheeks redden. He's fuming, frustrated and angry, sick and tired of Theon Greyjoy and his snide remarks.

 

After the daily drill with Ser Rodrik, it's Theon's turn to put the swords back. Robb leaves to his chamber to get ready for supper, and Jon says he'll go to the godswood before the evening meal. He walks in that direction until he is certain everyone is gone, then he swiftly turns around and heads to the armoury.

He opens the door slowly, inhaling the familiar scent of steel and leather, hearing Theon's hurried breaths--he must be tired, exhausted after the long practice. Jon knows Ser Rodrik doesn't go easy on him, and he would even feel sorry for him if only Greyjoy wasn't such a prick.

Jon is quiet, sticking to the shadows, so that he's not heard approaching. He has decided what to do, how to teach the bloody fool a lesson. He'll tie him up and leave him alone in the armoury until morning. A cold and uncomfortable night will put him in his place, Jon hopes.

Jon jumps on him so fast, Theon doesn't even have the time to shout. Jon smacks him over the head and quickly pins him to the ground, sitting on top of his chest.

"What the fuck are you doing?" the older boy tries to resist, but Jon has already removed his belt and is now using it to tie Theon's hands up above his head.

"Shut up," Jon growls, slapping him across the face once more, then stuffing his mouth with a dirty cloth he finds on the floor.

Theon struggles, but it all happens too soon, and then he just thrashes about helplessly as Jon lifts him up and ties him up to an iron hook on the wall. He is taller and older than Jon, he is stronger too, and this would have been impossible if it wasn't for the element of surprise.

"You are spending the night here, Greyjoy," he says in a low tone, but not trying to hide how pleased he is with himself, "so you'll have plenty of time to think real well if you should be a mouthy cunt next time."

The subdued boy mumbles through the dirty cloth, but Jon pays no attention. He turns to leave, and Theon's bewildered mumbling intensifies. Jon turns around. "They will all think you are out whoring. No one will come looking for you here. So spare yourself the effort and get comfortable on that hook. Good night."

He walks to the door, gleeful over what he's done. Yes, that should teach the conceited ass a lesson. He'll think twice before he taunts Jon again. But just as he opens the door to get out, he stumbles on someone. It's his father with Ser Rodrik and a couple of other men. They are laughing over something, but when they see Jon, they stop their conversation to look at him.

"Jon," his lord father says, "go get ready for supper. Ser Rodrik was just about to show me some damage on the armoury door that needs be fixed, but we'll be there shortly. Have you seen—"

Muffled mumbling interrupts him, and everyone goes quiet. Jon looks at the ground, swallowing a lump as he lifts his gaze up to meet his father's.

It's dark in the armoury—if Theon had been quiet, they might haven't even noticed him—but now that they know where to look, his shape is clearly visible. He is struggling to free himself, kicking the wall and thrashing about, his hands tied to the big iron hook.

Lord Eddard looks at his son. "Did you do this?"

Jon averts his gaze, but then he sighs and confirms. There is no point denying.

His father turns to Ser Rodrik. "We shall continue in the morning."

"Yes, my lord." Ser Rodrik nods, walking out with the servants.

"Untie him," Lord Stark commands.

Jon feels defeated as he walks to where Theon Greyjoy is hanging from the hook. He knows he's in trouble. Father will, no doubt, make him take on additional duties in the armoury or assign him some undignified task. He's ready to bear his punishment—hell, it might even be worth it just for the look on Greyjoy's usually smug face when Jon overpowered him—but he hopes the mean ass is sent away before Father scolds him. It's enough that his plan hasn't worked—Theon will walk away unscathed and continue with his nasty teasing. Him witnessing Jon staring to the ground, blushing, as his father words his displeasure would really rub it in.

Jon stands in front of his father's ward now, and sure enough, he can see the smug look in his eyes—he is gloating already. Jon says nothing, but takes the dirty cloth out of his mouth.

"You will get yours now, Snow," he spits the words out at Jon, grinning.

If looks could kill, Theon Greyjoy would be dead. But instead he's smirking, happy his predicament is over and Jon's is about to start.

Jon takes him off the hook, working around the belt buckle to untie his hands. He has secured it really well, so it takes some time. Once Theon is free, he rubs his wrists, skin a bit chaffed, but he's still grinning.

Jon turns around to face his father, looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to send the ward out to supper. But when Lord Stark speaks, Jon can hardly believe his ears.

"Give me the belt, Jon," he says.

Jon blinks. "Father..." He doesn't move, he hopes he heard wrong.

"The _belt_ , Jon," Lord Stark repeats.

His father can't be serious about this. True, all the older boys get a licking occasionally, but this is hardly such a grave transgression. And why is Greyjoy still here? While his lord father may be stern and strict, he has always been fair and just. He's never made anyone suffer such cruel indignity of being beaten in front of others—even when he and Robb get in trouble together, they're always summoned to their father's solar separately.

Jon stares with his mouth open, and even Theon says nothing, his expression serious all of a sudden. Lord Stark has approached them already, outstretching his arm, giving Jon an austere look. Jon knows better than to wait for his father to repeat his command once more. He tries to lick his lips, but his mouth is so dry. Reluctantly, Jon offers him the belt he used to tie Theon's wrists. It's Jon's own belt, wide and heavy. He's had it for so long, it is supple and faded from use.

So be it. If he is to suffer this in front of Theon Greyjoy and his stupid smirk, he'll at least try to summon all the dignity he can muster—he won't complain, he won't make a sound, he'll give Theon a lesson in how to take your punishment like a man.

Eddard Stark takes the belt and looks at both of them once more. Jon feels his cheeks tingling. Even smug Greyjoy now looks down. _Yes, stupid fool should be afraid too. Father knows he must have done something to deserve this._

"I suppose Theon has done something to cause this?" his lord father asks.

Jon is not sure what to say to that. Yes, he has done _plenty_ of things to cause this. But Jon feels stupid to talk about them now; it seems childish, and he's adamant to behave like a man, so he remains quiet.

His father nods. "I see. Whatever he may have done, it's not upon you to punish him for it. No one in Winterfell can deal justice but me. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, father." Jon knows this. Even Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik never presumed to discipline any of them without Lord Eddard Stark's explicit permission.

"Theon is my ward. He's not to be mistreated. I know you two can't stop bickering and fighting for more than an hour at best, but you are no longer children, and your feuds are no longer childish pranks. This is serious. Your fights have become more sinister, and I will not have it."

Both boys' eyes are to the ground. None of them says a word.

"No matter how many times either one of you were punished before, it still goes on. I'm determined to make it stop. You don't need to like each other, but you _must_ be civil. From now on, I will punish any such incident with the other one present. This will, hopefully, teach you to think twice before you do something like this again, Jon. And it will also show Theon what will happen to him too, if he is to try something similar."

Lord Stark points to a work bench, and Jon takes a step towards it. His hands clasp the laces of his breeches and he looks at his father, silently begging for this small mercy, but his father gives an unforgiving nod, and Jon unlaces them with a sigh, suddenly flushed bright red.

He leans over the bench, his forearms resting on its surface as his hands grip the edge, bracing himself for what is to come.

This is unfair. Jon feels so embarrassed, but he's trying not to show it. He knows Theon's been whipped a million times too, and he's sure he can take it better than stupid Greyjoy. But still, as he stands like that, leaning over the work bench, his ass exposed and about to be thrashed, he feels so humiliated that tears fill his eyes before he's even been hit. He blinks them away, taking a deep breath.

_You've been belted before, it will be fine. Just breathe and, no matter what, do not cry or make a sound._

His father steps behind him and tugs on his breeches, pulling them down to his knees. Jon feels the cold air hit his buttocks and thighs, and his skin reacts in goosebumps. He knows this area will soon no longer feel cold but be on fire as soon as the belt starts falling.

He's expecting it, but the first strike still takes him by surprise. Jon can't remember how long it's been since the last time he's been belted, but even if it had been recent, it always feels new, always feels sudden, and even though he knows it will hurt and just how bad, the pain always feels fresh, more wicked than he remembers. He makes no sound as his father strikes again, belt swishing through the air and landing flat across his cheeks. It stings, gods, so much. And after the third and the fourth blow it stings even more.

He stays put, motionless and quiet, gritting his teeth in an attempt not to move or make any sound, as the heavy belt keeps on falling, adding more burning pain to his bottom. His father must be putting a special effort to each strike, as this is not only a punishment for him but also a demonstration for Theon—it has to be exemplary harsh.

Each blow is more forceful than the other, and Jon feels his skin has been set ablaze. He's dying to rub at it, but he squeezes the bench firmer, his knuckles turning white. His father keeps bringing the belt down at an unforgiving pace, cruel sleek leather biting Jon's soft flesh over and over again without giving him as much as a moment to recuperate, and after a particularly hard blow that falls at an angle curling around the side of Jon's left thigh, a soft grunt escapes him. After that, Jon can't hold it anymore. He closes his eyes, frowning, trying so hard to keep quiet, but more treacherous sounds trick their way out of his mouth. A stifled moan, a soft whimper, a hiss or a grunt, they all follow each angry snap that the leather belt makes upon its contact with his skin. The snapping sound is so loud, Jon hopes it might be drowning out any noises he unwillingly makes.

If he hoped the sharp smacking sound of leather against skin might disguise his pathetic little sounds, Jon realizes that nothing can hide the tears slowly rolling down his face. And he has tried so hard to resist, but his ass is on fire, and there is only so much he can take. Jon doubts he has ever been subjected to such a harsh punishment. And all that for stupid Greyjoy. At least Jon draws small comfort he's still not trying to move away or plead with his father to stop. He wonders, though, for how long will he be able to succeed at that, as father seems intent on giving him the thrashing of a lifetime.

He's sure his whimpers are now louder than the snapping sound the belt makes, but Jon seems to care less about taking it like a man now, and more about when it will stop. Jon is sure he won't be able to sit for days after this. And he is sure Theon Greyjoy must be smirking happily now, enjoying the show, feeling all smug and pleased that he's witnessing Jon almost bawling like a baby.

He tried not to move, but now his body seems to have a mind of its own as it gives a small jump after each blow, and Jon knows that if his father doesn't stop soon, he'll forget all about his dignity and cry out loud begging him to stop. Gods, Theon would be so happy to see that, Jon is certain. He thought he couldn't possibly hate Theon Greyjoy more than he already did, but he was wrong—each new ruthless strike he suffers, that leaves his backside burning and throbbing with pain, adds a new depth to his hatred.

_Look at him, look at his stupid smug face and you will remember why you must not move or cry out or beg father to stop._

Jon turns his head to the side, sniffling slightly, to glare at Greyjoy. He expects to find him grinning, pleased to no end, his stupid handsome face adorned with his usual cocky smirk. But to Jon's surprise, he is serious. He's not gloating, he's not smiling, he doesn't even look pleased. Theon's face is bright red, mouth open, looking uncomfortable, breathing hard. He seems desperate for this to end almost as much as Jon is.

At first, Jon doesn't understand. But then he looks further down and he can hardly believe his eyes when he notices the big bulge in Theon's breeches. The son of a bitch is hard. He's standing to the side and that makes it impossible for father to see it, but from his position, doubled-over, Jon sees it very well. _Fucking prick._

This really brings Jon to a whole new level of humiliation, and Jon cries out, glaring at the ward through his tears. Theon's face turns even redder, and he looks down, probably not daring to face him.

Jon's loud cry makes Lord Stark stop. His punishment seems to be finally over, and it was the harshest one he's ever received. Jon thinks it must've been the harshest one his father has ever given too. His whole backside is on fire, it feels tender and swollen and Jon is surprised to see he still has it in him to resist the urge to rub it. He stands upright, pulling his breeches up, hissing slightly as the hard cloth brushes against his sore and sensitive flesh. He laces them up and cleans his face with his sleeve.

"I hope this is the last time I had to do this," his lord father says. "Both of you go to your chambers now. You will both go to bed without supper."

The two of them practically run out of the armoury, eager to leave as soon as possible. Lord Stark slowly walks towards the Great Hall, and they go up the stairs and down the hallway in silence.

Once in his room, Jon gets rid of his clothes, grunting and hissing. He finds that the soothing balm he has from the previous times he's been punished has gone all dry, so he tries to melt it a bit first in his hands and then over the fire. He can't bring himself to go to Maester Luwin now; he feels utterly defeated and just wants to go to bed and put this whole day behind him.

However, as he holds the little jar close to the fire, Jon's mind goes back over his humiliating ordeal. He flinches and moans with irritation. If only he hadn't cried. But he is sure no one would have taken that belting any better than he had—it was brutal. He takes a peek at his backside and it's crimson. Gods, it hurts so much, and the balm is not even close to beginning to melt. He'll have to go see Maester Luwin. He rubs the tears from his eyes and pulls his breeches back up again.

On his way to the maester's study, he thinks about how Theon must be so pleased now. He's not sure how he will face him tomorrow. It's not only that he saw Jon thrashed so mercilessly that he cried, but it is also the thing that Jon saw—that experience gave Theon pleasure different from the kind Jon had expected. _Theon Greyjoy and his stupid cock._

Jon is so angry about that. It's as if all the humiliation, all the pain he suffered have turned to rage. He knows it might be futile, but Jon wishes to confront him. So, when he walks past Theon's chamber, he stops, leaning against the door to listen.

The door is thick; he hears nothing, so he pushes it slightly, surprised that it's unbolted. He watches quietly from the entrance and sees Theon standing next to the bed, breathing hard and making small movements, his breeches pulled down, his buttocks clenching rhythmically. He has his back turned to Jon, but there is no doubt what he's doing. That really does it for Jon, he can only take so much in one day. Jon runs towards him, tackling him face down on the bed before he even notices the door opening.

"What in the seven hells are you doing, Snow?" he hisses at Jon. "Didn't you have enough?"

"Shut up, Greyjoy, you sick bastard. Is there no end to your depravity?" Jon growls at him.

But Theon laughs, his tone mocking as ever. "You're the bastard, _Snow_. And if you don't get the hell off of me, I'll tell your father to give you another thrashing, 'cause that for sure taught you nothing."

He is struggling, trying to shake Jon off, and Jon presses him down firmly, trying to immobilize him, when he feels something he never thought he would feel in Theon Greyjoy's presence. Jon is getting hard. Must be all the wrestling and rutting, as he is on top of Theon, whose ass feels squirmy and _good_ beneath him. And when Theon laughs knowingly, Jon gives up pretending it is not happening. He decides to embrace this obscene sensation in all its awkwardness, hoping that the power he's now exerting over his father's ward might erase some of his own humiliation. Besides, this has already gone too far. He can't possibly degrade himself any more.

He tugs at his own breeches and grabs his hard cock, pushing it against Theon's naked buttocks. Jon has never done this before. He feels slightly uncertain, but Theon does nothing to stop him. His movements are no longer the attempts to shake Jon off, but lewd grinding against the mattress. This confuses Jon, as he expected resistance, but he himself likes it too much to stop now.

Jon doesn't know what exactly to do, or if he should do anything at all, but just this rubbing feels really good, and he moans as his cock touches Theon's skin. It feels warm and gentle. Every time Jon clenches his buttocks in time with his thrusts, he feels his own battered ass burning with pain again, but then the heat goes further down, all the way to his balls, and Jon is now rutting against Theon, wild and desperate. He grunts loudly, pushing him ever so firmly down on the mattress, as his cock rubs against the toned flesh of his ass.

When he spills, spraying Theon's squirming asscheeks, leaving white ribbons of seed over the firm roundness of his bottom, Jon lets out a long low moan, then just lies on top of him, feeling spent and overwhelmed by all the events of that day. His calm moment doesn't last long, though. Theon turns around beneath him and pushes him to the side. He lies next to Jon and throws a disdainful look at his cock, soft and sensitive now.

He scoffs. "Such a virgin. I knew it would take you about two seconds."

"Shut up," Jon tells him, but Theon goes on, berating him how he is a fucking virgin who doesn't know where to put it.

And Jon can't take it anymore, he's had enough of Theon Greyjoy and his big mouth for one day and all the trouble he's put him through. He desperately wishes to shut him up, but he can't find the words to do so. He licks his lips nervously and, in what must be an act of complete madness, presses his mouth to Theon's.

Jon feels his lips part in a mocking smile, but Jon doesn't pull back; he moves his lips slightly, feeling Theon giving in to the kiss, his tongue pushing carefully against Jon's. He hums quietly and closes his eyes, taking Jon's hand and putting it on his cock. He's hard, feeling long and smooth on Jon's palm. Jon almost pulls his hand back, but Theon bites on his lips slightly and holds his hand firmly, so Jon yields. At least he's not talking anymore.

Theon wraps his hand around Jon's and guides it up and down his shaft. Jon feels a bit irritated as he knows how to do _this_ , but the touch is unassertive and he even brings his other hand to the back of Jon's neck and holds him there through a long and slow kiss. He feels Theon's hips giving gentle thrusts, fucking his fist before speeding up, their lips and tongues still locked, and soon Jon feels hot wetness spurt over his hand.

They still keep their lips pressed together, but Theon lets go of Jon's hand and Jon quickly removes it, wiping it on his breeches.

The kiss slows down even more, and when their lips finally part, they get up from the bed clumsily and in haste. Jon stares at the ground, feeling shy and confused. He is reluctant to look at Theon; once again he expects smugness and mocking. But when Jon dares looking up for a second, he sees none of that. Theon is serious, solemn even, but when he sees Jon staring at him, he gives a half-smile that is surprisingly kind.

Jon feels himself blushing and quickly looks down again. Theon touches his hair cautiously and whispers, "Don't be shy. I know you haven't done it before. It's fine. You did well."

Jon shakes his head, trying to free himself from that tender touch, but the hand is still there, caressing his curls. He pulls his breeches up, still not daring to meet Theon's gaze.

"Jon," he whispers again, "if you come again tomorrow night, I can show you. I can teach you what to do. If you come. Do you want...?"

Jon doesn't move for a few moments, he just breathes, trying to think. He knows he should say no, he knows that this, like everything else he did today, was a mistake. But he can't help it. He nods slightly and looks up, again surprised to see the smile Theon usually only saves for Robb. He's never smiled at Jon that way before, and Jon doesn't know how to respond. He nods again, swallows hard, then turns around to leave.


	2. Will We Receive Without Ever Asking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to push Theon out of his mind. But it's proving to be harder than he thought. Especially when Theon smells so nice and is not being a total dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear sweet readers, I am aiming towards my usual new-chapter-every-week rhythm, but we'll see if, and for how long, it goes like that. I hope you'll like where this story is going. I love feedback, so don't ever be shy :)
> 
> Once again, I have to mention my two lovely helping hands--I must have some awesome karma to deserve them: my dear wonderful [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) whose help I would be lost without. Thank you so much, baby, you're the best <3 , and my lovely sweet [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) who never stops to amaze me with her clever insights. I can never thank you enough, love <3
> 
> Chapter title is from the lyrics to the song Forever More by Moloko

The next day, Jon really has a problem sitting. Even walking feels painful; his muscles pull his skin tight, and he feels so sore. But this serves him right: not only his recklessness and lack of better planning put him in that awful mess with his father, but also, instead of looking for Maester Luwin afterwards and getting the balm that might have helped a little, he went to Theon's room and— Oh gods, he can't even think about it.

His father is still giving him cold angry looks. Jon is miserable and ashamed over what happened, both in the armoury and later, in Theon's room. It might be just his imagination—Jon hopes it is—but he feels as if everyone in Winterfell knows what he's done. He feels exposed, as if hundreds of eyes are on him now and they all saw him rutting at Theon Greyjoy's naked ass. Jon tries to keep out of everyone's way.

Theon behaves like nothing happened. He doesn't tease him—he hardly even acknowledges Jon's presence. But when their eyes meet over the desk in Maester Luwin's study, as the old man is telling them about the deeds of one king or another, there is this conspiring little smile on Theon's face; his look is almost warm. Jon blushes and looks down to his book.

The same happens over dinner. Jon tries so hard not to look at him, but he's inexplicably drawn to those blue eyes, so he raises his head, trying to steal a glance. He's surprised to find Theon watching him openly, giving Jon a bold cocky look. It's not too different from Theon's usual smug gaze, but there's also a dare and something else Jon can't really read. A memory of the kiss they shared and his hand wrapped around Theon's long hard cock makes Jon embarrassed. He doesn't dare to look up from his plate again for the rest of the meal. Jon almost leaves the dining table and runs to his chamber. Almost. Instead, he takes a deep breath and finishes his meal along with everyone, lest his awkward behaviour raises any suspicions.

Jon spends a sleepless night, arguing with himself, finding reasons to go and reasons not to.

_He said I should come._ But maybe he was just teasing. _He said he would show me._ There's nothing to show. _I rubbed my cock against him._ It's just Theon Greyjoy. _And it felt good._ It's just Theon. _We kissed._ It was a mistake.

Dawn finds him awake and still undecided.

Over breakfast Theon doesn't even look at him. Jon tries to convince himself he has done the right thing, made the right decision, but he finds himself craving that furtive half-smile, whose meaning Jon can't really decipher.

After a couple of days, Jon is finally no longer sore. He can tell Theon is avoiding him, ignoring him completely. Jon is not sure why, but he almost misses all the taunting he used to hate.

During the day, he pretends he doesn't really care, ignoring Theon as well—they both act as if the other one doesn't exist. Jon knows no one has a reason to find it strange—it's common knowledge that his lord father has had enough of their fights. The whole castle knows how harshly Jon was punished, and how Lord Stark promised the same fate would befall Theon if they didn't stop with their bickering. No wonder they're ignoring each other.

But at night, when he is alone in his chamber, Jon's thoughts wander back to that evening—how Theon's skin felt warm and smooth, how he touched Jon's hair gently. Jon thinks he can still feel the scent that surprised him. There was the manly, salty sweat in Theon's skin, but also something else, something that Jon couldn't quite identify—cloves mayhaps? He had never smelled something like that, he always associated perfume with the soft skin of women, but smelling it then, on Theon's skin, mixed with that manly musk, was far more arousing than perfume on a woman could ever be.  And no matter how hard he tries not to think about it, he still does.

And when Jon touches himself, he forces his mind to think of other things—of girls, for example. He takes his swollen manhood in his palm and tries to imagine... a girl... a beautiful girl, maybe lifting her skirts, shamelessly. But he can't summon the face of that girl, so he turns her around in his mind. She is bent over, the skirt goes up and up, revealing lean long legs and soft round curve of a full bottom. Jon approaches, hand reaching out, touching slowly at first, then grabbing a handful. He squeezes and kneads the girl's asscheeks, pressing his cock against them, but when the girl turns her head, Jon sees it's not a girl anymore—it's Theon Greyjoy. Jon tries so hard, but his mind always goes back to that long wet kiss he shared with Theon, to the words they whispered gently, and to Theon's hopeful invitation for Jon to come back.

These thoughts bother him so much that soon Jon stops touching himself altogether—he's determined to push Theon Greyjoy out of his mind—but that only makes him regret not looking for Theon that second night. Quite a few times, when everyone is asleep, Jon almost leaves his chamber, but at the door he fails to gather the courage to go any further, returning to his bed.

After a fortnight, it's announced that Lord Karstark will come for a visit with his sons. It comes as a welcomed distraction to the memory of Theon Greyjoy's knowing touches and his smooth and warm skin that smells of cloves.

Jon knows he won't be allowed to sit at the high table, Lady Stark saw to that, but he's still allowed his usual freedom around the castle. He takes his sword lessons with his brother like he used to and sits at the maester's study together with Robb and Theon, even when the Karstark boys join them.

Edd and Torr Karstark are slightly older than him and Robb, closer to Theon's age. Edd seems nice enough, but Torr proves to be an ass. He immediately distances himself from both Jon and Theon but is so overly friendly to Robb it borders on servitude. Robb will be his liege lord one day, while the two of them are just a bastard and a hostage, that is true, but he could still act less subservient, or just be less of a prick towards Jon and Theon. Although he is careful not to openly insult Theon, who is of noble birth, in addition to being taller and older than him, he sees in Jon an easy target and picks on him relentlessly.

On the third day of their visit, Jon is at sword practice with Robb, Theon and the Karstark boys. They are in the practice yard, where Ser Rodrik is shuffling between overseeing the work on the damaged armoury door and their sparring; he comes to check on them every once in a while, but they are mostly left on their own. The Karstarks are skilled alright, but both of them avoid charging at Robb. They stay away from Theon too; Jon guesses it might be because they are not sure of Theon's skills and they'd much rather not risk it, so they both focus on Jon.

Jon is an excellent swordsman; Torr and Edd wouldn't be a match for him separately, and they seem surprised to be taking so long to disarm him. Jon gives all he's got, and Edd seems genuinely impressed, but Torr is getting angry.

Torr Karstark seems ready to give up, and Jon sees he steps back as if to walk away and leave his sword, so Jon turns to continue to spar with Edd. What Torr does, though, is sneak up on him from behind and hit him with the sword's handle straight into his back, punching him in the stomach when Jon turns around. Jon doubles over, coughing, and Torr then easily pushes him to the ground, sneering.

"I guess I've won," he says smugly.

Everyone else stops whatever they're doing, and they all just watch as Jon gets up. He looks at Torr, squinting angrily. "That's not fair."

Torr snorts, turning around to leave.

"That's not a fair fight." Jon reaches to grab his arm, unsure what he even wants to do, but Torr shakes it off.

"Get your hands off of me, bastard," he says with contempt.

Jon looks down, biting his lips. He knows better than to respond, so he lets it go, but the slur still hurts him. He's had enough of it, and he swiftly turns to walk away, trying to hide just how much those words wound him, but then a loud thud gets his attention.

Torr Karstark is sprawled down on the ground, his hand covering a bloody nose. Theon is leaning over as he growls, "You fucking shut your ugly trap, Karstark."

People start gathering, and Robb pulls Theon away as Edd helps his brother up. Jon stares at them, disbelieving. He catches Theon's gaze, his blue eyes wild and angry. Ser Rodrik pushes his way through the crowd and pulls Theon by the back of his neck, urging him towards the Great Keep, no doubt taking him to Lord Stark's solar.

Torr and Edd leave for the guest chamber assigned to them, and Robb helps Jon return the swords in silence. Jon is confused over what happened. It's strange that Theon reacted like that when he himself has called Jon a bastard so many times. But Jon can't deny he's glad Theon stood up for him. He would have expected Robb to do it, and it hurts Jon a little that he didn't, but he still feels strangely pleased at Theon's outburst. He worries too, though. He knows Theon is now in trouble.

Before supper, Jon peeks at the Great Hall, but Theon is nowhere to be seen. Torr's face is bruised, and Jon draws some comfort from that. He finishes his meal quickly, leaving the lower benches where he's been seated to go upstairs. Now that the Karstarks are there, the suppers in the Great Hall last long into the night and no one is likely to come looking for them.

He goes straight to Theon's chamber. He knocks first, unsure and suddenly doubting, almost changing his mind about it. But then he remembers how Theon never hesitated when his fist flew to Torr Karstark's face, so he pushes the heavy door slowly and walks in.

Theon sits in a chair by the fire with a cup in his hands, and there's a jar on the table next to him. Jon walks towards him slowly, and Theon turns to look at him. He doesn't even seem surprised. That unsettles Jon slightly, so he just watches Theon in silence.

"What is it, Snow? Why are you here?" Theon's tone is cold.

Jon stutters, "I... um, I came... to see if you were well."

Theon scoffs disdainfully. "Yes, I am well. You don't think your father would whip me like some green boy, do you? I am a man grown, unlike you."

Lord Stark might not have whipped Theon, but judging by his irritability and sour mood he must have gotten a good scolding.

Jon doesn't wish to irk him anymore, readying himself to leave, but he has to know. "Why did you do that?"

"Why not? I was sick and tired of him."

Jon nods, walking to the door. Just before he's out, he hears Theon say, "He shouldn't have said that."

Jon pauses, turning around. "You say it all the time."

"Not like that."

And it's true. While Theon has called him a bastard a million times, it was different. Torr was more cruel, he was mean, while Theon is just a teasing ass.

Theon walks towards him, each step making Jon's heart beat faster. They stand in front of each other, and Jon looks up to meet Theon's gaze.

"Thank you," he says.

Theon's hand goes slowly up to touch his hair. Jon shivers.

Theon shakes his head slightly. "Don't thank me. He deserved it."

He toys with Jon's curls; the touch is so light and gentle it gives Jon goosebumps. He opens his mouth, thinking of what to say. But when Theon leans into him and presses his lips to Jon's, he relaxes and closes his eyes. Theon's mouth is soft and tastes like spiced wine. Jon hums quietly into the kiss, feeling Theon pulling him into an embrace.

Theon's lips move to Jon's neck. "Is that why you came? To thank me?" he whispers, his breath warm and tickly on Jon's skin.

Jon shifts. "I came... because you said you would show me." Jon blushes, but he's told the truth, and he's now hoping for the best.

Theon steps back, looking at him. He's serious, watching Jon intensely, perhaps trying to see if Jon really means it, but then his lips part in a knowing smile. "Aye. I did."

Theon pushes Jon gently to lean against the door, going down on his knees.

He looks up at Jon, raising his eyebrows. "But you will have to do everything I show you, all right? Will you do it?" His fingers work the laces of Jon's breeches

Jon gasps, feeling himself hardening. He doesn't even know what Theon means by that, but having Theon Greyjoy on his knees in front of him like this would make him agree with anything right now. He nods, his voice all raspy when he speaks, "Yes. I will."

When Theon takes him in his mouth, Jon instinctively tries to take a step back, but he's pressed against the door and there's nowhere left to retreat. He gasps loudly and gives a small whimper, raising himself on his toes. Theon's hands grab his thighs, keeping him still, as he sucks Jon's now rock-hard cock.

What Theon does with his mouth feels so good, but Jon feels awkward. He isn't sure what to do with his hands. Should he touch Theon? Should he keep them still by his sides? Theon seems so much at ease, so comfortable, sure of his every move, and Jon again envies his easy confidence, still unsure if he should move, or do, or say something, and his hands feel heavy and obtrusive. In the end he settles to have one of his arms hanging still by his side as he places the other one carefully on top of Theon's head.

That makes Theon look up, and he looks so obscene. His mouth stretched around Jon's cock, going up and down his length as his blue eyes gaze up, playful and sly. Jon shivers, moaning loudly, about to spill, but Theon pulls away, leaving his cock to cold air. Jon hisses at such cruel loss, but Theon smiles and proceeds to lick his balls.

Jon whimpers. He wants more—sucking, licking, everything—and starts bucking his hips. He hears Theon chuckling at his eagerness, and that irks him a bit, so he squeezes a fistful of Theon's hair and guides his head back onto his cock. Theon doesn't take it the wrong way, though. He smiles and starts sucking again.

Theon's tongue rubs him from stem to the tip, where it draws circles around the head, gently at first and then harder. Jon is thrusting wildly, unable to restrain himself, and again Theon pulls away.

"Try to make it last," Theon tells him, pressing him firmer against the door, steadying Jon's hips with his hands.

Jon's body calms down, but the effort draws such desperate moans from him . Theon chuckles again and goes back to sucking. Try to make it last, he said. Jon tries, but it's hard. He has never felt this good. It's not only the wonderful hot wetness of Theon's mouth and his nimble tongue that feel so good, but simply any touch Theon gives him feels amazing. All the times Jon has touched himself, it was somehow less thrilling, more predictable. He has done it to himself intent on reaching the release much more than on enjoying taking his time getting there. And that's exactly what Theon is doing. He's making him take his time, and every touch is a pleasant surprise, an unexpected delight. It feels good, sure it does, but at the same time Jon feels so vulnerable, reduced to a moaning, panting, agonizing bliss.

Theon swallows him whole, pressing his nose against Jon's lower abdomen, his breathing tickling Jon's pubic hair. Jon whimpers and starts shaking, and Theon looks up again.

Jon is about to come again, unsure if he should. Theon told him to make it last, and he's tried, but he can't hold it anymore. Again, he's uncertain as he is fully down Theon's throat, and they didn't really talk about this. Should he pull out? Or just let his seed spill inside Theon's mouth?

"Theeooonn," he keens desperately.

Theon moves back slightly, sucking now just the tip of his cock, nodding encouragingly. Jon shudders, wailing, and comes in violent gushes, spurting all over Theon, his face, inside of his mouth—it even gets to his neck and hair. Jon pants, his chest heaving, feeling his own heart beating wildly.

Theon comes up to him, messy and smiling, and Jon manages a smile too before Theon crashes his lips against his. Jon can taste himself on Theon's tongue. He feels Theon pressing against him, poking his stomach with his erection. Jon is weak, but Theon doesn't rush him, gives him time to recover, to start breathing normally again. Then Theon doesn't need to say a thing, Jon drops down to his knees all on his own.

He has never done this, he feels shy and insecure, but the pleasure Theon has given him feels better than anything anyone has ever done to him before, and Jon is determined to reciprocate justly.

Theon caresses his head with one hand and with the other he works at his breeches, getting his cock out. It's long and hard, with a round purple tip already slick. Jon licks his lips nervously, but then he presses Theon's heavy cock to his face. He inhales the smell, rubbing his lips and nose all over it. Theon smiles encouragingly, and Jon opens his mouth to welcome him in.

He tries to imitate what Theon did to him and, after he relaxes and stops thinking how ridiculous it is that he's on his knees with Theon Greyjoy's cock in his mouth, Jon finds that it's not only easy, but that he actually likes it too. He likes the way Theon smells, he likes the little moans Theon makes through his deep loud breathing, he likes the taste too, and he really enjoys Theon's hands lost in his hair, stroking gently.

At first Theon doesn't buck his hips. He's still, letting Jon get the hang of it. But soon, Jon is strangely proud to notice, he's no longer that still and composed. His hard breathing intensifies, his grunts and moans grow louder, and Theon pulls out, looking for a break.

Jon looks up, his mouth still open as Theon rubs his cock over his face and lips. Jon sticks out his tongue, and Theon lets him lick for a while before pushing his cock back in. Then he starts thrusting, slowly, but he goes too deep and Jon starts gagging. He doesn't pull back though, he takes Theon's cock as far as he can, remembering how Theon swallowed him whole, and feeling somewhat upset he can't do the same. It's a challenge, and he keeps on failing. His eyes well up from the effort, but no matter how hard he tries, he still gags.

"Relax your throat," Theon tells him, but Jon still can't do it. Theon pulls him by the hair, slamming Jon onto his cock, burying himself completely inside his throat. Jon gags so much he thinks he'll throw up. But then Theon pulls out, and he's fine again, breathing and ready for more. Jon goes at it all on his own, and Theon chuckles.

Then he keeps just the tip of his cock inside Jon's mouth and strokes himself with his hand. Jon sucks the head obediently, and when Theon's movements speed up he knows what's coming.

The taste surprises him—salty and somehow rich, but not unpleasant—but Jon outdoes Theon and swallows it all to the last drop. He coughs a little, clearing his throat and catching his breath, as Theon pants loudly.

Instead of pulling Jon up, Theon comes down to sit next to him. He leans his back against the door and closes his eyes. Jon sits quietly, thinking how he should most probably get up and leave, but he doesn't move yet. He hates his need for acknowledgement. That's so stupid, but he really wants to hear Theon's approval. So he sits and waits. But, when even after several minutes Theon doesn't say a word, he stands up, adjusting his clothes.

Theon looks at him and smirks. That, as well as his silence, annoys Jon, and he gives Theon a particularly cold stare, but Theon pays no attention to it whatsoever and extends his arm, looking for Jon's help getting up. Jon sighs and pulls him up so forcibly they almost bump into each other.

Theon laughs. "Gods, Snow, I thought at least this might make you stop sulking. Did you not like it?"

Jon looks down. "I did," he says, then pauses shortly before asking, his tone more quiet now, "Did you?"

Theon grins. "Of course I did. You suck cock really well." And then he laughs so loud he probably doesn't even hear Jon telling him to shut up.

But when Theon stops laughing, his eyes still smile, and not in his usual smug way.

"Will you come tomorrow again?" he asks.

"No," Jon tells him, but even then he knows it's a lie. Because after this time, Jon will go to Theon every night.

 


	3. Losing My Favourite Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon thinks he knows what he's doing, but is it enough to have Jon where he wants him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My everlasting thanks to my beloved [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) , baby, you have no idea how much your help means to me. I love you <3 Also, a greatest thanks to lovely and wonderful [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) , a dearest, sweetest helper and a friend a girl can ever hope for. Thank you, love <3
> 
> Here we are, dear readers, this is now overlapping with that other fic I am working on at the moment, but I still think I'll manage to stick with what should be a more or less regular weekly updates. I hope you're all still here and enjoying this fic. Thank you all for your kind encouragement, it means the world to me, so don't ever stop <3
> 
> Chapter title is from the lyrics to the song My Favourite Game by The Cardigans

For a long time Theon finds it hard to believe that Snow will come to his chamber every night without fail. Every single time he retreats to his room, he expects Snow not to show up. He thinks Snow will change his mind, turn craven or, gods forbid, tell of their nightly games to Lord Stark. Theon expects _anything_ rather than Snow actually coming, head full of messy curls peeking inside before he sneaks in, bolting the heavy door behind him as he sulks apprehensively at Theon, looking almost insulted, but with an undeniable need behind his sullen gaze.

That sight makes Theon smile. At first, he tried to deny it, but now he accepts that it's more than just a relief that it's not Ned Stark bursting through the door to hack his head off, and not over Balon Greyjoy rebelling, but over Theon debauching his bastard son, turning him more wanton and dependent on the ways of the flesh with each passing night. Theon finds himself surprisingly pleased with Snow's presence. Much more than he'd like to admit. And he's careful to never show it, not only because he's never sure if, come nightfall, the sullen bastard will make his appearance, but also because Snow might, with one word, send him to the block.

Theon guards himself because, by looking at Snow during the day, you'd say he harbours nothing but hate for Theon. That never bothered him before, but now Theon feels somehow wounded. He understands the need for secrecy—he has not lost his mind—but when his every gaze is met with coldness, his every secret half-smile with a harsh glare or, even worse, complete indifference, it's much more than Theon's pride that's hurt.

He had never liked Snow. His ever brooding presence annoyed Theon, and he hated competing with him for Robb's affection. Theon had tried very hard to make everyone understand that, despite being what he is—an ironborn the northerners looked down upon, a hostage—his status is still much higher than the bastard's. He is highborn, while Snow is just a bastard that often forgets his place, and Theon liked nothing more than to remind him of it.

Then that day, he's not sure exactly what happened, but the sight of the arrogant bastard bending over—so forcedly humbled, his breeches pulled down, getting ready to take the belt—at first it made Theon smug, pleased the bastard would get his comeuppance and, even better, right in Theon's presence. But as the belt started falling and Jon's bottom turned pink, then red, and then crimson, all the little sounds Jon was making, slight grunts and moans, his involuntary moves, grimace of pain on his face as he tried so hard to remain still and quiet, they stirred something in Theon. He felt sorry, a bit, as that was a harsh whipping, but he also got hard. He desperately wanted it to end so he could rush to his chamber and toss himself off, but he also wanted it to go on for much longer, as that was the most arousing experience Theon ever had.

All the whores and wenches that were so keen on spreading their legs for him, all the big bosomed maids that flaunted their charms in his face—none of those ever brought him even close to how he felt upon seeing Snow in such a predicament. It wasn't just the vulnerability of his position—his ass belted ruthlessly as he bit on his lips not to whimper in pain—and the utter humiliation of having Theon witness it. It was more.

Snow actually was very pretty then, his messy black curls dancing about, falling over his face, hiding his eyes one moment and revealing them the other. And his eyes looked so beautiful, dark grey glistening with tears he tried to hide as he was biting those full lips struggling to remain quiet. When he realized he'd be belted, Snow went pale, but his face was soon flushed red. Not as red as his buttocks, though. And that was the most obscene thing of all. Theon hardly dared look at that flawless curve.

But looking at Snow's face wasn't much better. He was in pain, that was obvious, but Theon knew Snow would make the same faces and sounds in pleasure too. When Lord Stark finally finished, Theon was as relieved as Snow.

At first he thought it would end just like that, he'd find his release on his own, conjuring those lewd images of the pretty bastard being thrashed whenever he touched himself at night until a more appealing image took over—as it usually happens with the thoughts that fill his head while he's touching himself—and life would go on as usual. But when Snow came to his chamber, their obscene interaction lead them to somehow end up kissing. It was clumsy and felt strange, but Theon liked Snow's soft plump lips on his, his uncertain fingers wrapped around Theon's cock, and the shy defeated look in Snow's eyes when he nodded in agreement to Theon's invitation to come to him again.

The next night, when Snow didn't show up, Theon might have felt slightly disappointed, but he didn't pay it much mind. At first. Because as the time went by, every time Theon was with a girl or pleasuring himself on his own, he found himself summoning memories of both Snow being belted and Snow rutting against him, squeezing his cock and kissing him. Soon, it was all he could think about. Even amidst the most demure and chaste activities, such as having meals with Lord and Lady Stark, studying with Maester Luwin or during sword practice, his head was full of Jon Snow.

When the incident with the Karstark boy happened, Theon was surprised by his own reactions. True, Torr Karstark was an ass, but it was not like Theon himself had never called Jon a bastard. As he was being dragged to Lord Stark, he wondered why the hell did he do it. Why on earth did he get himself in trouble on Snow's account? Luckily, he wasn't given a thrashing. Ned Stark was either too busy or too baffled that Theon defended his bastard son, so he was spared the belt. Theon did get a scolding that turned his ears red and was even banished from the Great Hall that evening. He was sitting in his room, feeling like a fool, when Snow's unexpected presence made his evening a lot more tolerable.

He comes to Theon every night after that, but still, he holds back, he's quiet and sullen, and Theon is never sure if he'll come again.

He's torn between taking things slowly not to scare him off and doing all the things that could possibly come to his mind, making sure he uses his time with the pretty bastard as best as he can, not being entirely sure if there will ever be a next time. He restrains himself and chooses to go slow, and, fortunately, the next times keep on coming.

Theon has always been curious about ways of the flesh. He likes discovering all different ways in which he can get pleasure, and he's lost count of how many girls he's bedded. He feels confident and sure while fucking, he feels like that is one thing no one could say he doesn't do well.

He's also curious about boys. He knows that sometimes, on their raids, the ironborn raped greenlanders' sons as well as their daughters. There was no shame in that—buggering some greenlander boy's tight ass was every ironborn's right if he chose to do so. So Theon was not too surprised to find himself getting hard when he first caught a sight of a pretty young boy-whore at the Wintertown brothel. Of course, ironborn mad with battle lust occasionally raping a boy on his raids was different than paying for bedding a boy-whore at the brothel, so Theon never dared take that risk. Which doesn't mean he never bedded him, because he did, a few times. But to his credit, he never paid for it, and it was not in a brothel.

The first time they ran into each other was by accident. Theon was riding back from an uneventful hunt when he decided to take a detour and soothe his annoyance by fucking some whore's brains out. Just a few yards from the first shabby houses of Wintertown, Theon saw the boy-whore. He must have been at the market for he clutched a full purse to his side. At first, Theon only meant to give him a scare, so he rode swiftly right into him, turning his horse at the last moment, making the boy lean to the back wall of a cobbler's store, dropping his purse to the ground. Theon smirked seeing the boy's eyes go wide with fear, but when the boy smiled at him, Theon saw something else in his eyes too. He was not at all surprised when the boy followed him as he rode back into the woods. Even to this day Theon remembers how sweetly the boy moaned and how tight he felt squirming beneath him when Theon took him on all fours down in the bushes by the little stream.

After that, it happened every so often; Theon went to the brothel and he usually fucked the girls there, but now and then he'd just have a drink and give the boy a signal—a quick glance and a barely noticeable nod—and the boy would follow him into the forest where he'd spread his cheeks for Theon to have him in every way possible.

When Theon asked him why he did it—not only fucking Theon for free, but also wasting time in which he could be taking money from others—the boy chuckled, and said, "You've seen the men that come to the brothel. And to have someone so comely fucking me as good as you do, I should be paying you, really."

Seeing how the boy enjoyed being fucked made Theon wonder. Sometimes he touched himself there, one hand wrapped firmly around his cock, pumping, the other going behind him. At first, he only squeezed his buttocks, then he pulled at them, and finally he caressed the crease in the middle. The more he touched himself there, the bolder he got with his fingers.

He pressed at his puckered opening and rubbed at it, until finally one evening he licked his forefinger and shoved it up inside. It felt strange—sharp and intrusive—but also warm, and somehow obscene. Soon, another finger joined the first, as he moved them in and out. He curled them once, hitting a spot that gave him such a powerful release he thought his heart stopped. Theon was amazed that doing what he did could make him come so hard. Since that night, fingers up his ass were an act inseparable from fingers around his cock.

Theon knew he could, in theory, ask a boy-whore to fuck him. But having  his way with boys and girls alike was his undisputed right if he chose to make it so—ironborn that he was—and the fact that it was him doing the fucking made it acceptable in Theon's mind. So, even if the boy told someone, Theon's pride and position would still be untarnished—he took what was his, didn't even pay for it. But for him to take the woman's role with the boy-whore, it was too much of a risk. Should that be discovered— Well, Theon dared not think about it. The shame Theon would bring upon his house would probably make his father beg Lord Stark to allow him to come kill his deviant son himself.

With Snow, however, it's different—his stakes are just as high as Theon's. And that first night when Snow rutted against him wildly, pressing him down into the mattress, Theon thought he would do it. He thought—hoped even—Snow would push his cock inside, take him by force and fuck him like Theon himself had fucked the pretty boy-whore. But Jon Snow is a green boy who knows nothing. Just that demure rubbing seemed enough to make him come, and so fast. Theon was more annoyed at being denied that experience of being fucked like a woman than he was at Snow's rude barging in on him in the privacy of his chamber. But when Snow kissed him, he melted a bit, and Snow's fist around his cock, as inexperienced as he might have been, still felt good. But it was the softness of his lips, the nimbleness of his tongue, that made Theon forgive him for all he had and hadn't done, making him invite Snow back.

Soon, under Theon's careful instruction, Snow could last for much longer, and his touches became almost expert and innate. Snow still looked shy and confused, but Theon actually preferred it that way. He felt more in control, and the bastard looked so pretty with his eyes open wide, amazed at every little thing they did, his pouty lips slightly parted as he moaned quietly, drinking in each new experience, looking at Theon with a mixture of gratefulness and apprehension, as if he was scared whatever they were doing would stop. It's what he sees now all the time in Snow's eyes, that innocent yearning, that makes Theon more confident, more relaxed, more certain he's got the bastard hooked. And the more sure of himself Theon felt, the braver he got.

They are still just using mouth and hands, but Theon keeps thinking more and more about Snow's cock. It's only slightly smaller than his, but it's thick and round, with a pretty pink head that glistens so invitingly when Snow gets hard. Theon takes things slow, but he aches for the day he'll feel that cock inside him.

After almost two moons have passed, and their nightly encounters have become regular, Snow seeming less shy and subdued, Theon decides the time is right for him to act.

When Snow comes to his chamber that night, Theon is the first one on his knees. He sucks and licks Snow's cock teasingly, thrilled to see him so completely undone. Snow is holding back, trying to make it last, but his head tilts backwards, mouth open in obvious pleasure as he's starting to moan before clenching his jaw and grunting, obviously trying to control himself.

Suddenly, Theon stops and gets up. Snow stares at him in surprise, trying to push him down again. Theon shakes his head and pulls his own breeches to his knees, dragging Snow to the bed. Snow frowns, silent, as Theon lies on his stomach, raising his lower body on his knees, offering his ass in an act so undeniably clear.

When nothing happens, though, Theon turns his head around to see why is Snow taking so long. The bastard doesn't move, he just stares at him, open-mouthed.

Theon urges him on. "Come on, Snow, you know what to do. Don't play dumb."

"Theon, I..." Snow mutters in a raspy voice. "I can't."

"What are you talking about? Of course you can. Just push your cock up my ass. Come on, fuck me. I want you to."

But Snow shakes his head, face suddenly pale. "No. That's buggery. It's wrong."

Theon can hardly believe his ears. After all the careful grooming Theon has done to bring him to this point, Snow is still stuck up and prude. And fucking dumb. Besides, Snow might be saying no, but his body is clearly saying yes—Theon can see the bastard's cock twitch, the tip leaking, as he's looking at Theon's asshole.

"Why is it wrong, Snow? Why won't you do it?" Theon is still on the bed, in that lewd position, shocked and hurt that he's actually being rejected after exposing himself like that, after he's so generously offered himself to Snow.

"It's, um, it.." Snow is stuttering, pale as if frightened. "I, um... I won't dishonour you," he finally mutters.

"Dishonour me?" Theon scoffs, bewildered. "You can't father a bastard by fucking me. You know that, right, Snow?"

By the flush that comes to Snow's cheeks Theon can see his words have hit the painful spot, and he's glad for it. Stupid bastard. As if that would be so different from other things they've done.

Snow is tucking his cock back inside his breeches, and Theon finally gets up from the bed. The resentment he feels over the humiliating rejection he suffered makes him squint at Snow angrily.

They stare at each other in silence, then Snow looks down. "I'm sorry... I can't," he whispers.

Theon nods and starts taking his clothes off. Snow doesn't move. Once Theon has blown out all the candles and gone to bed, hiding beneath the heavy furs, back turned to him, Snow slowly leaves.


	4. One Way Or Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon has a plan and, hopefully, unlike Jon's plan from the first chapter, this one will work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My greatest thanks to sweetest [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) for her invaluable help with this fic, and dearest [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) for all the kind advice and suggestions. You both make this fic so much better :)
> 
> Also, dear sweet readers, thank you for all the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me. And after a number of you expressed desire to whack Jon for his actions in the previous chapter, I hope you find this one more to your liking. Do let me know <3
> 
> Chapter title is from the lyrics to the song One Way Or Another by Blondie

Theon tries his best not to look hurt by what happened the night before. He goes on about his day as usual, making sure he doesn't let Snow see his resentment. Theon spent a sleepless night, touching himself and thinking until he came up with a plan to make Snow's desire for him stronger than his fear of actually bedding a man. He's going to tease him, drive him mad with lust and longing.

That evening when Snow comes to his chamber, probably thinking their games would resume as normal, Theon pretends he's had too much to drink and sends Snow away, telling him to return tomorrow. On the next day, he says he's unwell, maybe something he ate. Snow nods, looking worried even, and leaves. The following night, Theon again feigns sickness. As well as the night after that. On the fifth day, he notices Jon looking at him more than usual, his guard almost down, throwing inquisitive glances his way. Inside, Theon beams. This is going exactly as he's planned.

During their sword practice, he charges at Snow relentlessly until he manages to throw him down to the ground. Theon stays on top of him just a moment longer than needed, making sure to rub his crotch slightly against Snow's as he gets up, marvelling in the familiar combination of confusion and lust in those grey eyes. Theon does that a few times, and by the end of their training, he knows that it's not physical exertion that has made Snow flushed and short of breath.

That night, Theon leaves for the brothel in Winter Town right after supper. He doesn't ask for a girl; he just sits there drinking, thinking about how Snow must be feeling upon finding Theon's chamber empty, all pleasure denied for the fifth night in a row. Theon smirks, pleased with himself, knowing he has the bastard just where he wants him. Snow will yearn for his touches, get so needy he'll do everything Theon tells him to. And after all these weeks of sweet playing, Theon wants the real thing—Jon Snow's cock up his ass.

Back in Winterfell, Theon expects he'll find an eager puppy, cock hard and begging to play, but instead, Theon finds his chamber like he's left it—empty.

The way Snow ignores him the next day tells Theon he might have gone too far. He miscalculated. Sure, Snow likes his cock sucked, but he's a proud and arrogant bastard. Theon feels stupid for not thinking this through. He'll have to do something, change his strategy.

Even though he hopes Snow will come to him that evening, Theon's not surprised when he doesn't. He sits alone, thinking of what to do, how to fix this. He goes to bed only after he's come up with another plan—he will push Snow harder. But now he'll play a different card. He knows that, while Snow may be proud, he's also quite possessive. Their history of fighting for Robb's attention has taught Theon that Snow is jealous, territorial even.

The following day, during their daily drill in the practice yard, Theon jokes with Robb, while Snow ignores him, pretending he's too busy to even acknowledge his existence. When Ser Rodrik goes to talk to Mikken, leaving them alone in the yard, Theon mentions a whore he supposedly fucked, and Snow starts glaring at him. Then Robb steps back and it's their turn to spar. Theon brings his game up a notch by telling in explicit detail how the whore sucked him.

"She's not much to look at, but that mouth of hers, oh gods." Theon laughs. "Also, she says the dirtiest things, little minx, but she doesn't forget herself like some other whores, oh no."

Theon throws a sly look Jon's way, and Jon charges at him, seething.  

Theon manages to avoid that blow, chuckling. "She's respectful,  _yes m'lord_ ,  _thank you_ _m'lord_. And that's how a good whore should be —always knowing her place. But it's when she shut up that she made my money worth. She swallows a whole cock like it's the easiest thing in the world. All the way up to the balls. Hell, I'm sure if I requested she'd swallow them too, together with it."

Robb giggles, blushing a little. Snow hits his arm so hard, Theon hisses loudly, but he continues his story, "You ever had your cock so deep down someone's throat, Robb? That is the best feeling in the world. I'll take you to her, so she can suck you too. I'm telling you, that girl knows how to please a man with her mouth. And the things she does with her tongue, oh my."

His every word seems to be making Snow more and more angry. He attacks Theon like a man possessed, dealing vicious blows that Theon is too slow to avoid. They hurt, but they also assure Theon he's on the right track. He may be getting beaten, but he doesn't shut up, and Snow is livid.

"I'm telling you, lads, that was the best cock-sucking I have ever had," Theon chirps happily, as if Snow didn't just smack him across his breastplate so hard it gave Theon a coughing fit, "so much better than this silly little virgin I fucked recently that I had to teach everything—"

At those words, Snow loses it completely. He charges at Theon, throwing him to the ground, punching and kicking. They wrestle in the dirt, and, despite Ser Rodrik running out of the forge, coming to separate them immediately, Snow has managed to punch Theon's face quite a few times—Theon is sure he'll have a black eye—but the hurt and angry look in Snow's eyes makes Theon think it's worth it.

"That's it, boys. I can't leave you alone for a single moment without you getting at each other's throats. You know what Lord Stark said about your fighting. I'm taking you to him, and we'll see if you do this again after he's done with you," Ser Rodrik says, pulling them towards the Great Keep, one on each side, as Jon tries to reach and hit Theon over and over again.

When Ser Rodrick ushers them to Lord Stark's solar, Theon thinks how this is another thing he hasn't really counted on. But what's done is done, no use berating himself over that now. It won't be the first time he's punished.

Snow, on the other hand, looks like he's about to cry, still trying to punch him, reaching over Ser Rodrik.

"Jon," Lord Stark says, forefinger raised in an unspoken warning, pointing for Jon to stand behind his desk, away from Theon, and Jon stops with his attempts to hit Theon again.

"My Lord," Ser Rodrik starts, "they're at it again, like cat and dog—"

"Thank you, Ser Rodrik, you may leave us now," Lord Stark interrupts him. No need for further explanations, so the old knight walks out, closing the heavy door behind him.

They are all quiet now, and for a few moments the only sound is Snow's troubled breathing. Then Lord Stark speaks, "What is it this time?"

Silence.

Ned Stark looks at his son first before turning his eyes to Theon. It's not only Theon who got hit, he managed to throw some punches too, and Snow has a red splotch over his eye that will be purple by tomorrow. It's hard to say who hit who—they are both equally bruised.

Lord Stark repeats his question. "What happened? Why did you fight?"

But their stubborn silence makes him sigh.

"It hasn't been over two moons since the last time we spoke of this kind of behaviour." He sounds annoyed and impatient at first, but then his tone gets softer. "Knowing how you were in the past—not even a day going by without you fighting—one might even call it an improvement to see you managed to behave in a... more civil way for at least a little while. So the last punishment worked. And for longer than the ones before."

Theon still hopes they might get away with just the scolding. But when he sees his warden unbuckling his thick leather belt, his heart sinks—it's been so long since he's been whipped, he can't even remember with certainty when it was. He remembers Snow's last time, though, and the intensity of that belting makes him fret now. It also makes him feel guilty—he brought this upon them with his flawed plan. And now Snow will be paying the price with him. That's unfair.

"Who started it?" Lord Stark asks.

Usually he'd either be quiet or blame Snow, trying to avoid the punishment. He hates the belt, but he's feeling too bad for getting Snow in trouble like this, considering it's all his fault. "I did," Theon says.

What surprises him is Snow saying the same thing at the same time. Then the two of them look at each other across Ned Stark's desk.

Lord Stark clears his throat, clearly not believing what he's heard. "Who started?" he repeats.

Again, they speak at the same time, "I did."

Lord Stark shakes his head in disbelief. He has always been patient with both his children and his ward, but now it's not only Jon's and Theon's continued fighting but also their obstinacy that seems to make him frustrated. "Very well, both of you started it, both of you then get your breeches down and bend over the desk."

"Lord Stark," Theon tries."It's not Jon's fault. It was me. He's guilty of nothing. He shouldn't be punished."

"Shut up, Greyjoy," Jon spits his words at him. "I don't need you speaking for me. I can fend for myself. That's not true, Father, I hit him first. It was my fault."

Theon shakes his head. "No, I am to blame. Lord Stark, I was... saying things I shouldn't have. Jon didn't—"

"Regardless," Jon raises his voice, "I hit him first, Father. I shouldn't have, no matter what he said."

"Enough, both of you," Lord Stark thunders, "and do as I say."

Theon starts unlacing his breeches, staring at Jon doing the same across the desk. When he raises his head to look at Ned Stark, Theon sees he is not really angry, but more confused. The two of them have always been happy to blame one another. Having them now arguing to take the blame is as strange and unexpected as all the creatures from Old Nan's stories coming to life. Lord Stark is, clearly, baffled.

Nonetheless, he still nods his head determinedly, pointing at the desk. Theon walks over to where Jon is and the two of them bend over, Theon feeling slightly awkward as they face each other, their asses bare, ready for the belt.

The first lick makes both of them flinch in anticipation. Theon frowns, and Snow bites his lips to the snapping sound—it was Snow who got it. The second one as well—a  _swoosh_  as the belt cuts the air and a  _snap_  as it lands on Snow's bare bottom, making him close his eyes, his teeth sinking deeper into the softness of his plump lips. It looks so beautiful and arousing that while this is hardly the right moment to think about that, Theon is dying to kiss him.

Lost in careful observation of Snow's pretty pout as he grimaces in pain, Theon doesn't even register the next swishing sound—a sudden burning pain explodes across his buttocks, making him grunt loudly, both for pain and surprise. He thought Snow would get his first and Ned Stark would then move on to Theon, but it seems Lord Stark will alternate the blows between them as he goes. Theon hasn't expected that. Well, he's not sure what he's expected, as he's never been punished with someone else before, but now he quickly composes himself, gritting his teeth, getting ready for the next lick.

His loud grunt made Snow open his eyes and look at him. Theon stares back, trying to appear unflustered—it was surprise that made him react and not the actual pain; he can take this, he's been belted before, and he'd hate it if Snow thought him weak. So Theon even manages a little cocky smile that gets distorted completely when the second blow stings his backside viciously. Snow seems to find that amusing. He doesn't exactly chuckle, but Theon can see him shake his head slightly, rolling his eyes, a shadow of a smile hesitating on his lips. Theon still wants to kiss him, but now he also wants to slap him.

Ned Stark has his attention on Snow again, it seems, as the next three loud  _snaps_  don't touch Theon, but make Snow bite his lips and frown again, their quick succession causing a barely audible moan too. Then it is Theon's turn again, but this time he's ready and makes no sound, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes in concentration, as the angry belt falls, delivering three quick burning licks across his buttocks.

Theon expects that now Snow will be given more, and then him again, and so on until they are both quite sore and sorry, and again he thinks how stupid this is—how stupid he was. He can see Snow is tense with anticipation, waiting for more, but when nothing happens, they are both surprised, still bent over the desk, not moving, not daring to believe it's already over.

"Fix your clothes and go to supper. We will end this now. I'm impressed you didn't try to blame each other, so consider this a warning only." Theon notices Lord Stark has tried to make himself seem stern and cold, but there's a softness in his tone that he failed to hide, and the leniency of this punishment is undeniable, so both of them rush to do as he's said, lest he changes his mind about it.

On their way down the stairs and then towards the Great Hall, they are both quiet, and Snow is not even looking at him. It's the same during their meal. Robb wants to know how their meeting with Lord Stark went, sympathetic and concerned they might have suffered a harsh punishment like the belting Jon received last time, but they don't tell him much. Theon tries to steal a glance, but Snow eats in silence, ignoring him completely, and that hurts Theon more than the licks of Ned Stark's large leather belt.

When the dinner is over and they all retreat for the night, Theon doesn't even wait to make sure the castle is asleep. He goes straight to Snow's chamber. This is the first time he's doing it—it was always Snow coming to him—but he has made too many errors, too many misjudgements. It's his time to make things right. Or at least try.

When Theon gets inside, walking confidently to where Snow's standing, near the fire, Snow at first looks surprised to see him, and Theon can swear he even catches a glimpse of glee on the bastard's face, but he quickly goes back to his usual sullen and brooding self, not even asking Theon why he's come.

"Listen," Theon starts, looking for the best way to say what he wants, "about what happened... I didn't mean for us to get in trouble. I mean, for you to get in trouble. I'm—"

"Save it, Greyjoy." Jon sounds agitated. "I deserve to get a thousand whippings for being stupid to care about the whore you fucked and what she—"

"No, listen," Theon interrupts him, but the words he wants to say don't come easy. "There was no whore. I fucked no one. I mean, I did, in the past. But this story today, I made it up." He feels embarrassed admitting this to Snow, even more than sharing that ass-whipping with him today, but he continues, "I didn't fuck anyone last night. I made it all up. To... provoke you."

Snow frowns, processing this information. "Provoke me?" he repeats in bewilderment.

Theon thinks he should have had some wine; he feels silly talking about it like this, completely sober. He sighs. "Yes. To provoke you, make you jealous. So you would fuck me. I, uh... I want you to fuck me."

"Is that why you were sick or had too much to drink or whatever in the past few days?" Snow sounds rather mad.

No use lying anymore, so Theon confirms. "Yes. I wanted... to make you..." He's unsure of what to say, feeling stupid over what he's done, so he just repeats one thing he is sure about, "I want you to fuck me."

Snow smiles a bit, but then scoffs. "All this, these past few days, and this mess today, with Father, and what he could have done to us, all that because you wanted my cock inside you?"

That is true, but the way Snow puts it makes Theon feel really silly, so he says nothing, only nods.

They are both quiet for a while, then Snow walks behind him and bolts the door. His tone is threateningly low as he growls, "Very well then. Breeches down and bend over the desk."

This is now the second time today Theon's been issued that command. First was Lord Stark, about to belt him, and this now Lord Stark's bastard son, about to... well, Theon's not sure—hopefully to fuck him.

His hesitation makes Snow speak again, "Go on. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

And yes, this is what he wanted, that much is true, so Theon does as he's told. He unlaces his breeches apprehensively, fingers trembling ever so slightly, as he walks towards the desk in the corner of Snow's chamber. He hears footsteps behind him, and Theon is reluctant for just a moment before he bends obediently over the desk, hands to his sides, grasping the edge, laying his head down on the cold wooden surface.

He feels Jon's hands touching fresh welts on his asscheeks and he winces slightly. Hands get rougher, pressing into the red marks the belt left.

"I should whip you too, you know," Snow whispers behind him, breathing hard. "Give you a thrashing you deserve... for being so wanton, so lewd."

Theon closes his eyes; he should have guessed—Snow won't fuck him. Instead, he'll take revenge, stupid petty fool that he is. But Theon doesn't move, he waits, still hoping, despite knowing better.

"When I was belted that last time," Snow continues, his hands fondling Theon's ass, "you seemed to like it... If I were to belt you now, would... would your cock get hard too?"

He hears Snow shift behind him, spitting on his hand. Then he gropes Theon's ass, spreading it, squeezing and pinching. He is very rough and it hurts a bit, especially if the belt marks are touched, but when he rubs the crease in the middle, spreading the spittle over Theon's opening, Theon hardens, warm familiar feeling spreading in his groins.

A sharp smack makes Theon gasp. The bastard has struck him, with his hand only, but his backside is still sore from the belt, so it hurts more than it should.

Theon turns his head back. "Snow? Just fuck me already, or let me go. I'm not—"

A sudden, different kind of pain shuts him up. Theon blinks, mouth open wide, breathless, feeling his insides burn with a sharp piercing sensation as Snow pushes in. He's up to the hilt, the coarse hair of his crotch pressed firmly against Theon's ass, and he stops. It hurts so much Theon tries his hardest not to scream. Snow is not moving, just waits, breathing hard.

When Theon himself starts breathing again, Snow pulls back, almost all the way out, then slams back in again, making Theon whimper.

Again, no one moves, and they are quiet, Snow's thick cock deep inside him, as Theon feels his eyes well up, his ass spread tight around that unforgiving hardness.

Yet, this is what he wanted, so Theon blinks his tears away, trying to steady his breathing, trying to relax. Snow grabs him by the hips now, pulling almost out again, keeping him in place as he once more rams his cock back inside. This time, Theon only grunts. He feels Snow's thumbs caress the skin above his hipbones, and that makes him smile, despite the pain still very much present.

Then Snow starts moving faster, no longer waiting that long between his thrusts; he keeps the rhythm—steady, but hard—pressing Theon ever firmer against the desk as he buries himself in relentlessly. Theon's body is adjusting slowly, and while it still burns, Snow's cock now slides in easier.

Theon relaxes more, spreading his legs. He feels Snow's balls slap against his own every time Snow slams his cock inside him, and that feels so obscene it makes Theon moan, his own forgotten erection now throbbing. He reaches down, taking his cock to stroke it.

Snow is still pounding into him hard, but he slows down, probably to delay his release, trying not to spend so soon. Then he stops completely, and Theon surprises himself by moving his hips backwards, impaling himself onto Snow's cock, asking for more. Snow pulls out, and Theon turns his head to look at him. Snow is sitting on his chair, licking his lips. Then he says in a raspy tone, "Turn around, come."

Theon needn't be told twice; he turns around swiftly, kicking both his breeches and his boots away, and straddles Snow's hips, feeling again that big pretty cock nudging against his entrance. Snow looks up, his eyes glazed with lust, but Theon sees awe and apprehension there, reminding him that, while it may be Snow's cock up his ass, Theon is older, more experienced, more in charge, and if he is the one getting fucked, it's only because he wanted it that way. Snow may have him stretched around his cock, but Theon has Snow wrapped around his finger.

Theon smiles as he slowly sits down, again feeling the sweet burn as his body is invaded. Snow is still, but he lets out a long low moan when Theon rolls his hips. Theon shuts him up with kisses.

Theon moves on top of him, rocking his hips, going up and down, delighted by Snow's helpless moans. Hands caress his back, his ass, his hair; Snow's hands are everywhere, squeezing, fondling, holding him tight.

When Snow moans a very desperate  _Theeooonnn_ in his mouth, Theon knows Snow is about to come. He grabs his own cock more firmly, changing the angle of his slamming down, looking for that spot that makes him melt. When he finds it, he keens into Snow's kisses, feeling his thighs and his asshole and his whole body squeeze and twitch, as he spurts out powerful gushes of seed over their chests. Snow groans, eyes closed, mouth open wide. He bucks his hips wildly upwards, holding Theon so firmly down, as if trying to get even further inside. Snow's body gives a violent shudder and his moaning intensifies, as he fills Theon's insides with his seed.

Snow is just a heaving, panting mess that caresses and holds Theon, kissing him even before he can breathe again. Theon feels lightheaded, he has never come so hard before. He's grateful for being held as he thinks he might fall down otherwise, his body so limp, unable to sustain him, hanging over Snow weakly. He hopes it was as good for Snow as it was for him. Judging by how tight Snow holds him and how his lips won't let go, it must have been.

Theon hopes Snow is no longer angry, and that they will do this again. His shifts slowly, feeling Snow's cock leave his asshole, sticky and wet, and Theon presses firmer against him, caressing the curly mess of Snow's hair with one hand as the other one touches his face gently.

When their lips part, Snow is the first one to speak. "Why do you always smell like cloves?" he asks, still panting.

Theon has to bite his lips not to smile. He rolls his eyes and scoffs as if annoyed, but deep down he's glad Snow noticed such a thing, a crude and rough-cut creature that he is.

"That's because I don't use stupid cheap soap you have at the baths here," Theon explains. "I buy my own. At the market." He tries not to sound too pleased, but he can't help his tone—the unexpected question charmed as much as surprised him.

Snow chuckles. "So does Sansa, and Lady Stark. You smell like a girl."

"I do not. They use jasmine. Clove is a very manly smell. Girls smell like flowers and cakes."

Snow is still chuckling, his hot breath tickling Theon's neck as he speaks between his kisses, "Men smell like sweat, and horses, and leather."

Theon sighs, "Yes, but when they bathe they smell like nice smelling soap. Unless they are uncouth savages from the North, unrefined and lacking grace."

"Yes, you ironborn are known to be refined and graceful."

"I am much worldlier than you. You wouldn't know a thing had I not taught you, ignorant bastard."

Snow tenses. He squints at Theon, frowning, his pout as prominent as ever. "Yet you were so desperate for an uncouth northern savage bastard's cock up your ass."

Theon smiles fondly now, caressing his cheek. "You still have your charms. After so long among your kind, I can't stay completely immune to that."

They are both quiet now, Theon still straddling Snow's hips. After a while, he gets up slowly, and heads for the bed.

"That's my bed," Snow says as he watches him snuggle beneath the furs.

Theon laughs. "I know it is. Shut up, Snow, and come here. I'm spending the night with you, and I might be ready for more uncouth savage northern cock again soon, so get your ass to bed."

"I'd much rather if we mess up your sheets," the bastard grins, as he takes his clothes off, walking towards the bed, blowing out the candles. "I don't have a fancy soap to clean them with like you do."

Theon welcomes him with a smirk, pulling him down next to him.

"I'll let you use mine sometimes if you're so fond of it," he says, wrapping his arms around Snow's warm, firm body. "But don't get too used to it, though. I prefer your northern cock uncouth and savage."

Snow chuckles, and Theon realizes how much he actually likes hearing that sound.


	5. Sucker Love Is Heaven Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jon is truly the one in charge, why does he always feel so powerless?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe most enormous gratitude to my two lovely betas that I love so dearly [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) , thank you, baby, for everything you do <3 and [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) , thank you so much for all the time you patiently have for me
> 
> Dear readers, I thrive on your comments, haha, please don't be shy, make my day <3

Jon is not sure of anything he does. Theon's occasional affectionate gestures reveal some gentleness, but just as Jon starts relaxing, Theon is back to his old nasty self, teasing and taunting. These unpredictable changes in Theon's behaviour make him nervous. The never-ending game of hot and cold is driving him mad.

Like now. He sweats lying on the bed, feeling so under pressure, swallowing hard, looking at Theon's eyes, trying to read them, see if he's doing it at all right. But Theon doesn't complain. Yet. He doesn't seem to be in pain and, for once, he doesn't seem annoyed with Jon. His face is flushed as he rocks back and forth. His eyes tilt backwards every so often as he moans, licking his lips, half-smile never leaving his face. When Theon speeds up, coming down on Jon's cock with more force, the noises he makes become an impatient wild growling. He squeezes Jon's shoulders and chest so hard it makes Jon hiss. He grabs Theon's hands, trying to push them away, but Theon's grip is strong, and the pushing only results in Theon's nails painfully scratching down Jon's torso, until they come to his hips. Then Theon stops, both scratching and moving. His palms rest on Jon's hip bones. His ass feels so tight around Jon's cock, but the weight of Theon's body on top of him now when he's not moving anymore makes Jon relax and start breathing normally again, no longer fearing he might spill too soon, before Theon's had his fill.

Theon observes him carefully, silent and calm, except for his hard breathing. The look in his eyes is not mocking, but it's not warm either. 

Jon clears his throat, again feeling unsure.  "What?" he mutters.

Theon raises his eyebrow, then squints. "You're lazy."

Jon gapes. "What?"

"Lazy. You don't even move. I am doing everything," Theon explains, not too kindly.

Jon feels flush come to his cheeks. He is not lazy, this is ridiculous. Theon is being an ass.

"I am not lazy, Theon, it's just..." But he doesn't really know what to say.

"It's just what?" Theon's words might feel cold, but his fingers are warm, rubbing Jon's abdomen gently, and his ass is definitely warm, stretched tight around Jon's cock. 

Jon can't be mean to him, not now, these sensations are disarming him completely. During the day, whenever Theon is being a prick, Jon makes sure he doesn't get away with it, but at night, when they're like this, he's in Theon's power completely. That's what's happening right now.

Theon raises his eyebrow, giving him a daring look, and shifts on top of him suddenly - his sharp movements accentuating his words :  "It's just what?"

Jon takes his hands to Theon's chest, caressing him. He licks his lips, breathing hard. "I... I want to make it last. Not spend before you do."

That seems to soften Theon a bit. His smile is amused and warm. He leans down to kiss Jon.

"Don't be stupid, Snow," Theon tells him between kisses. "If you spend before I do, you will just fuck me again."

Jon chuckles, his hands cupping Theon's ass, squeezing slightly. "Will you ever have enough?"

"No," Theon laughs. He grabs Jon's hands, pulling them away from his buttocks, and pins them up above Jon's head.

Jon opens his mouth; the slightest of moans escapes him.

Theon presses his finger on Jon's lips, pushing it inside where hungry sucking welcomes it. He moves on top of Jon again. First slow, his hips just teasing, but then he speeds up. "Now, I want your pretty cock to fuck me. But  _really_  fuck me, not just... lie there, alright?"

Jon nods.

Theon continues, "I want you to fuck me so hard that I beg you to stop."

Jon whimpers, hearing that. He swallows hard. "Theon..."

Theon raises his eyebrow without a word. He lets go of Jon's arms and leans slightly back.

Jon sits up to kiss him. In their first time he managed to shut Theon up with a kiss. Despite having kissed so much by now, that still seems to work - his kisses are pretty much the only thing keeping Theon in check. Now as well, Theon squirms on top of him, moaning softly, his body becoming less stiff, his touches gentler, as he gives in to Jon's embrace. When he seems more pliant, Jon uses the opportunity to push him backwards, making him fall down on the mattress. He quickly slams inside Theon again, burying himself up to the hilt. Theon gasps, surprised with that sudden movement, then moans, grinning lewdly at Jon.

"Yes?" Jon asks, his hips pressing down firmly.

Theon squeals out a confirmation, so obviously delighted with this playful roughness.

Jon slams into him again, hard. The sound their hips make in their forceful encounter seems loud as thunder - the night is quiet, and in the hushed darkness of the sleeping castle, the slightest whisper sounds loud enough to wake the dead. Theon moans with pleasure, so Jon goes hard again, and again, fucking him for all he's worth.

Soon, he feels he's about to spend, but Theon still hasn't had enough. He'll have to change this game they're playing. When Jon slows down, Theon grunts his displeasure, his hips bucking upwards, thrashing up and down, fast and violent, demanding more and harder. And Jon wants to give him all that, but if he moves just the slightest bit now it will all be over. He pushes Theon back down to the bed, and Theon's angry gasp becomes a desperate whine when Jon pulls out.

Jon presses his hand over Theon's mouth. "Shut up."

It surprises him that Theon actually does.

Jon pins Theon's arms up above his head, ordering, "Don't you fucking move."

That causes Theon's cock to twitch, and Jon can't help a tiny smirk. He releases his hold of Theon's hands, carefully hiding his amazement over the fact that Theon really doesn't move them.

Supporting his weight with his elbows, Jon hovers above Theon, without touching him - he just stares at Theon's eyes. Theon squirms, but stops when Jon raises his eyebrow in an unspoken warning. They both chuckle.

"Don't be an ass, Snow." Theon swallows, then adds, licking his lips, "Come on."

Jon wraps his fingers around Theon's cock and starts stroking. Theon moans, blinking, his hips moving upwards. Jon increases the speed of his stroking, staring at Theon's blue eyes, half-closed in his frantic lust. He feels Theon getting close and he squeezes him harder, twisting his wrist as he pulls on the sensitive skin. But just as Theon starts keening, his eyes tilting backwards, Jon stops, abandoning Theon's cock to a lonely twitching. Theon's moan of pleasure becomes a growl of pure frustration. His hands dart towards his cock, trying to take over where Jon left, but Jon slaps his cheek, again pinning his arms up above his head.

"I said, don't move," Jon whispers.

"Fuck you," Theon whines, but doesn't fight back, submitting to this cruel ordeal.

Jon waits until Theon's relaxed, then strokes him almost to a release, abandoning Theon's cock in the last moment again. He does it a few more times, until tears start streaming down Theon's face. Jon would like Theon to beg, but Theon is too proud - he does what he's told, submits his body to Jon's manhandling without any reservations, but his words are always defiant. Now, however, Theon looks so dazed, he probably couldn't speak even if he did want to beg. Jon smiles, leaning down to kiss him.

When Theon wraps his legs around Jon's waist, pulling him in, all it takes is a couple of thrusts for Theon to come so hard, his violent jerking making the bed beneath them shake. Theon's asshole clenching around Jon's cock also brings much craved release for Jon and he is soon also coming, filling Theon's ass with his seed. Jon lies on top of him, panting in bliss, as his cock slowly slides out, leaving a wet and sticky trace.

But when Jon again tries to kiss him, Theon pushes him away.

"Go away, Snow, you mean and spiteful creature. I didn't want you to fucking  _tease_ me, I wanted you to fuck me," Theon barks his words at Jon.

"I thought you liked it," Jon says, the apologetic tone of his voice revealing his confusion.

Theon raises his eyebrow, smiling his smug half-smile. "Aye, I did. But you're still mean and spiteful. Now get the hell off of me and out of my bed. I want to sleep."

Jon blushes, suddenly feeling tricked and used. He slowly gets up, without a word, looking for his clothes. Once fully dressed, Jon walks towards the door, feeling Theon's eyes follow him.

"You know," Theon calls after him, "you can stay if you'll be nice. Ask me nicely, suck my cock to apologize, and I'll let you spend the night here."

"Fuck off, Greyjoy," Jon snaps back, insulted, without even turning around, shutting the door behind him.

They ignore each other the next day, and the following night feels lonely and cold - Jon is alone in his chamber, fighting his body's craving for stupid Theon Greyjoy that smells so nice, and his tight pretty ass that feels so good around his cock.

Then on the second day, during dinner, Theon pours wine for both Jon and Robb, then generously grabs a spoonful of cloves from his own goblet and pours it into Jon's.

"There you go, Snow," he chirps cheerfully, as if nothing has happened. "All for you. I know how much you love cloves."

Jon blushes, almost smiling at that. Robb doesn't notice, but Jon catches a small wink, and Theon's hand rubbing him gently beneath the table seems like an apology enough to make Jon haste to Theon's chamber after dinner, trying so hard to out-perform himself, doing to Theon, without any objection, all that Theon tells him to. The red and purplish marks that Theon's lips and teeth scatter all around Jon's neck and shoulders that night are a testament of their passionate reconciliation.

Too bad that the next day, sweaty and hot after sword practice, Jon forgets himself and unties his doublet and shirt loose, trying to cool down, revealing the little marks in all their obscene glory.

Jon takes a moment to understand why Theon grins suddenly, or why Robb stares, incredulous and surprised.

"What?" Jon asks, frowning.

"Who's done that?" Robb points to his neck, an intrigued smile on his lips.

Jon's hands flies to hide the skin, but it's too late; Robb has seen it, and insists on finding out who left those love marks on his body.

Jon doesn't want to talk about it, of course. "No one," he says abruptly, surprised and slightly annoyed to see Theon as calm as ever, watching from the side all puffed up.

Robb laughs. "I can't believe you won't tell me, Jon. Who is the lucky girl you bedded?"

"No one. It must be some... bug bite," Jon says, blushing.

Theon bursts out laughing, Robb chuckles too.

"I'm your brother, I can't believe you'd keep it a secret from me." Robb is laughing, but he also looks a bit hurt.

Jon tightens his clothes, hiding again the telltale signs of how he spent last night. But Robb is not letting it go, his curiosity probably fuelled by feeling hurt by Jon's stubborn silence.

"I would tell you everything. In fact, I do tell you everything," Robb goes on. "Why would you keep it a secret? From your own brother? Why won't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell, Robb," Jon tries.

"Sure there is. I see here that my brother has finally found a girl suitable enough for him to forget all about his honour and-"

"Stop it, Robb, it's not what you think," Jon interrupts him.

"Oh, it's not? Then what is it?" Robb asks.

"It's nothing, I told you-"

"So does this nothing have a name? Is her hair fair or dark? Tell us," Robb presses on.

All this time, Theon was content just to chuckle on the side and watch Jon blush, but now he joins Robb. "Yes, Snow, tell us about her," he says, grinning.

Jon wants to smack him. He glares at Theon, emphasizing every word. "There's nothing to say. It's nothing. There's no one. Leave me alone."

"Oh, come on, Snow." Theon stands next to Robb, delighting in seeing Jon so flushed and flustered. "She must be a rare wench to have uptight Jon Snow forget himself between her thighs."

"Shut up, Greyjoy," Jon growls. "I'm warning you."

But Theon smiles even wider to hear a threat in Jon's tone. "I'm sure she wouldn't want anyone else to  _dishonour_  her, handsome little bastard that you are-"

Jon closes the distance between them in only two steps, grabbing Theon by the collar and slamming him against the armoury wall, spitting angry words through his teeth, "Shut. Up."

Jon's not standing close enough to feel it, but he can swear Theon hardens. He lets Theon go and takes a step back.

Robb shakes his head at them. "You two better stop, you don't want father angry with you again." Then he takes Theon's arm, pulling him away. "Come, Theon, if he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to. You know Jon is shy, he'll tell us about it when he's ready."

Jon silently thanks him for it, watching the two of them leave towards the Great Hall. He goes to the hot pools and stays there throughout the supper, annoyed and sullen. When he returns to the Great Keep it is nighttime already. Jon stays in his room, waiting for Winterfell to fall asleep, before walking to Theon's chamber.

The door is unlocked, like he knew it would be. Inside, Theon is smirking at him from his chair, drinking wine.

"Snow," he says his greeting.

"Get up," Jon commands him.

Theon chews on his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. He gets up, smiling.

Jon walks towards him and turns him around, pushing him down to bend over the table.

"Oh, like this again?" Theon chuckles.

"Shut up," Jon tells him, but he still hears Theon chuckling as he tugs on his breeches, pulling them down, revealing Theon's pert round ass.

The first smack makes Theon stop laughing. The second one makes him moan. The third one has him rolling his hips, spreading his legs lewdly. By the time Jon's hand starts aching, Theon's ass is red and warm, his cock is leaking, and he doesn't stop moaning even as Jon smacks the most sensitive spot, just below his asscheeks. Theon has his legs spread wide, back arched, ass high up in the air, yet again teasing, with his body now, provoking more angry blows. Jon is so hard. He spits at his palm, smearing the spittle along Theon's crease, fingers finding the puckered entrance, warm and tight and ready for him.

Theon pushes his hips backwards, trying to meet Jon's fingers as they probe their way inside. Two fingers at once, roughly up - Theon didn't deserve the merciful gift of a slow stretch. Yet, once Jon's fingers are inside, knuckle-deep, Theon moans a long needy  _yes_. Again, Jon feels this might not be going the way he's planned. He doesn't want to hurt Theon, not really, but maybe just punish him some, for his mean teasing from earlier. However, what Jon thought to be a punishment, Theon takes as a most joyous pleasure, his undisputed right even. Jon feels played, but Theon's body feels so good in its pliable submission, its needy yearning, Jon couldn't stop now even if he wanted to.

He takes his fingers out and spits at his palm again, this time smearing the spittle along his cock. He enters Theon in a sudden sharp push, but immediately feeling sorry and regretful when Theon yelps pitifully.

"I'm sorry. Sorry," he whispers urgently, pulling back, ashamed of his violent approach.

But Theon turns his head around, a crazy smile on his face. "Don't you dare," he says, breathing hard. "Get back inside."

Theon urges him to fuck him hard. The rougher Jon gets, more ecstatic Theon seems, and Jon can't help wondering who really is the one in control. And all his attempts to assert his dominance, to reclaim that command he thought he had, slamming into Theon as hard as ever, are all met with such needy expectance that it only makes Jon even more frustrated. Jon is not sure why, as it is him doing the fucking and Theon being on the receiving end of this harsh passion, but despite Theon's apparent submissive role, Jon still feels like  _he_ is merely following Theon's lead. Every angry thrust, every loud smack across Theon's bottom, every deep shove that makes Theon whimper is nothing more than Jon delivering what Theon's requesting. Theon doesn't beg, he doesn't even ask - he  _demands_. And it's always  _yes_ and  _harder_. 

So Jon fucks him harder, trying to find the right angle, the sufficient amount of force, the unforgiving rhythm, anything that might make Theon yield. But by the time Theon comes, Jon has managed to fuck the frustration out of his system. He slumps back, falling into a chair, panting and heaving, satiation and serenity replacing his earlier anger. Theon looks as good as dead, still bent over the table, but a chuckle interrupts his loud breathing every so often.

Jon would like to be kissed. He feels the need to huddle next to a gentle warm body beneath the furs, but he doesn't dare say it, afraid Theon will again rebuke him. He's learnt his lesson and is too proud to make the same mistake again, expecting warmth and tenderness where he'll find only mocking. But when Theon gets up, turning around to face him, and approaches him in a clumsy step, almost falling on top of him, it is the gentlest of kisses that brushes Jon's lips.

"Are you angry?" Theon asks.

Jon shakes his head. "Why would I be angry?" He smiles, feigning innocence.

"Because I teased you," Theon whispers through his tender kisses.

"I don't care about that," Jon lies. "You are always a teasing ass, and only you know why you're like that."

Theon nibbles at Jon's neck, and Jon melts under that touch.

"I like to see you blush," Theon mumbles. "You blush like a maid."

"Shut up," Jon retorts, as Theon pulls him towards the bed where they crawl beneath the furs.

Feeling sedated and calm, warm in Theon's embrace, Jon soon finds himself drifting into sleep, not minding anymore, even the slightest bit, the way Theon toys with him, provoking his anger, igniting hard wild passion only to satiate his own need, as hard to tame as the ocean storm, but warm and soft once you do, like the gentle ocean breeze. Jon has never in his life seen the sea, and yet he dreams of it that night, and of a smooth sea breeze, caressing him, carrying a distinct scent of cloves.


	6. See How Deep The Bullet Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another thing Jon and Theon can bond over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest and kindest gratitude to my lovely betas: wonderful [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) and amazing [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo).
> 
> Without their patient and sweet help, this fic would have indeed been just a horrible tale <3

When Jon and Theon are summoned to Lord Stark's solar, Theon can hardly walk - his legs feel wooden and stiff, and every step takes so much effort. He knows they haven't done anything to deserve admonishment - no fighting, no arguing, nothing - but that makes Theon even more scared. Because if Lord Stark is not calling them to punish them over their usual misbehaviour, he must have found out about their nightly encounters and is now about to hack Theon's head off or something even worse.

Jon looks just as worried. He is pale, licking his lips every now and then. They avoid each other's gazes, but just in front of Eddard Stark's solar their eyes meet, and the confused and almost pleading look in Jon's eyes makes Theon man up, if only for the show. He swallows hard, looking at Jon, then nods, managing a faint smile before knocking on the door.

Once inside, they stand in front of Lord Stark's desk in silence. When Theon braves a look at his warden, he sees Eddard Stark's face is kind. He doesn't seem angry, and that reassures Theon a bit, though he is not yet relieved.

"Jon, Theon," Lord Stark starts, the deep calm tone of his voice making them relax. "Over the past few moons, I have noticed the improvement in your behaviour. I want you both to know it has pleased me quite much. But it is not why I summoned you." He pauses, and Theon can't wait to hear why they are here. He wishes his warden would get to the point.

What Eddard Stark wants from them confuses Theon. They are to visit several farms around Winterfell and make note of how the stock supply for the winter - that always seems to be coming, if you ask the Starks - has been affected by the sudden hailstorms, uncommon for the North, that damaged the crops. This sounds unbelievable. Why would Ned Stark bid Jon and Theon with such a task? Surely there are some servants who could do that.

"I could send someone else, but I want the two of you to go." Lord Stark continues his talk. "It is not only an important task but also an opportunity for the two of you to spend more time together and, hopefully, become friends, like Theon and Robb are." He smiles, and that confirms to Theon that Eddard Stark  has no idea just how he and his bastard son have bonded already. Theon almost laughs out loud, amused by that thought.

Jon looks proud and solemn, probably feeling important that his father has bestowed such a task upon him. Silly green boy. Theon would prefer them going hunting, or drinking, or anything rather than talking to some poor peasants about their crops. And the only reason he's not protesting about it now - making him spend time with Jon so they would behave, like they're disobedient children - is actually exactly because he will be spending time with Jon, the two of them alone in the countryside, fucking like rabbits, no one around to bother them.

However, two days later, just before they leave, Theon learns from Robb that Jason Mallister is coming for a visit with his son, and all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Of course Lord Stark wants them out in the countryside. Mallisters are Riverlands nobility, House Tully bannermen, and Catelyn Stark would not be slighted in front of them by having her husband's bastard's presence. No place for a Snow at that feast. As for his own presence, well, he's a Greyjoy, and Lord Mallister might bear him a grudge over Seagard being under attack during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. Theon doubts Lord Jason might risk Lord Stark's wrath by openly mistreating his ward, but Lord Stark is too clever to risk a drunken brawl - they're all better off if Theon's away too. No place for a Greyjoy at that feast either.  _Another thing we can bond over_ , Theon thinks ruefully.  

It surprises him that Jon seems unaffected by that. He's riding his horse, looking serene and pleased. They reach the first farm shortly before nightfall. After a delicious albeit basic supper, they are offered a separate room on the upper floor. When he learns it's the farmer's and his wife's own bedroom, Jon refuses such kindness and explains he and Theon will sleep on some hay-sacks in the stables, much to Theon's bewilderment. Seeing how Theon rolls his eyes at that, the farmer insists, but Jon will not even hear about it, the bloody fool.

Theon is so annoyed by what Jon thinks is him being magnanimous, while he's in fact just being stupid, he goes to sleep without a word, ignoring Jon's presence completely. When he wakes up hard in the morning, Theon regrets his decision not to engage in any lewd activity with Jon the night before, and even feels worried Jon might be offended. But Jon seems happy as a lark, cheerfully chatting with the farmer about the harvest, playing at being wise in ways of agriculture and on an important mission.

By mid-day, they are approaching the second farm, and Theon calls for a break from riding. They find a nice spot by the stream, where they sit to eat their lunch - some boiled eggs, dried ham and corn-bread the farmer packed for them. Only, Theon's hungry for something else.

He sits next to Jon, on a fallen tree-bunk, eyeing him intensely.

Jon cuts the ham, offering him a piece. Theon takes Jon's hand and brings it to his mouth. He licks his lips first, delighting to see a familiar defeated look in Jon's eyes, before he takes Jon's fingers in his mouth and starts sucking. Jon lets out a silent grunt, swallowing hard, and Theon is down on his knees, between Jon's spread legs, in an instant.

"Someone might see," Jon protests weakly, but his hands work the laces of his breeches, helping Theon get his cock out.

"There's no one here, Snow, relax," Theon soothes him, lowering his head, pleased to see Jon is getting hard already.

When Theon takes him in his mouth, Jon moans, dropping the food down to the ground beside them. Theon feels Jon's cock grow, filling up his mouth, poking at the back of his throat, making him gag. Theon sucks committedly, staring up at Jon's eyes, feeding off of the power he has now over the pretty bastard, so fully at his mercy. When Jon comes, not a drop of his seed is wasted - Theon laps it all up, smiling, before he comes up to kiss him.

Theon can see Jon is shy, probably worried about being seen, but he reciprocates justly, sucking Theon good and proper, smirking like a happy cat when he delivers a mouthful of seed into Theon's mouth. Jon gets a mean hard bite for that, but Theon can't deny that he liked tasting himself on Jon's lips, as much as he likes tasting Jon's blood now, sucking the bruised lip, making Jon moan even more.

"We should be going now, Theon," Jon says. "It'd be smart to reach the farm before dinnertime, seeing how our lunch went."

They jump back in their saddles and head towards the farm, racing and laughing. Theon even lets himself think that Lord Stark sending them away like that was actually a very good idea. Even when Jon again insists on them spending the night in the stables instead of in the farmer's own bed, Theon still feels pleased. He even thinks it's for the better - no one is likely to bother them there, so they can relax and succumb to their games as much as they want.

As soon as the farmer and his family retreat for the night, they are left alone. The warm air, smelling of hay and horses, makes it easy for Theon to quickly lose his clothes. Jon, however, doesn't follow suite, only giving him a slightly amused look, fully dressed and covered on his hay sack.

Theon doesn't let that discourage him. He approaches Jon, nude and already aroused from thinking what they'll do, how Jon will fuck him here, in the hay, among the horses, like a common stableboy and not a highborn that he is. Just the idea that he is debauching himself so - being roughly fucked by a bastard, in some poor shanty stable, on the ground, in the dirt - makes Theon's cock hard.

Jon, however, seems unimpressed. He gently rejects Theon's advances, turning around to sleep.

But Theon's persistent. He lies behind Jon, spooning him, his fingers daftly making their way beneath the covers, down to Jon's breeches. Jon grunts softly, but once Theon starts undoing the laces, he takes Theon's hand - a gentle, but firm touch - and moves it away.

"No, Theon, we can't," Jon whispers.

"Of course we can." Theon nibbles at his neck. "No one will come, we're alone here. It's safe."

Theon pulls Jon's hand back to his crotch. "See how hard I am for you."

Jon moans weakly to feel it, but his voice is faint with protest," Theon, please. We can't. Stop it."

Theon's other hand closes over Jon's mouth. "Shh," he whispers, "don't worry, no one will come, we can do anything we want. And do you know what I want to do?"

Jon nods his head, but Theon continues speaking, rubbing himself against Jon's ass. "I want you to force me down on my knees and pull my hair. I want you to slap me, then throw me face-down in the dirt." He feels Jon has started moving too, still reluctant, but slowly relaxing. Theon kisses his neck, breathing his words behind Jon's ear, "I want you to tell me I'm a cheap whore-"

Jon mumbles a protest, Theon's hand still covering his mouth, but Theon shuts him up, "Shh, no, listen. I want you to humble me. Fuck me like a dirty wretched stableboy, right here, in the hay, among the stench of horses and filth. I want you to do to me every unimaginable dirty thing you can think of. I want you to fuck me so hard... to make me cry and beg for you to stop. I want a fuck so cruel that I can't fucking walk tomorrow. You can do anything you want to, as if you were the Lord's son, a trueborn lordling, and me a poor stableboy, worthless and despised."

Jon turns around swiftly, kissing Theon. They rut against each other, both so impossibly hard. But Jon breaks the kiss, pulling back with so much effort, but still determined. "No, Theon, we can't. It's wrong."

Theon starts losing his patience. "Why is it wrong now, Snow? You've already  _dishonoured_ me," he says, mocking.

"Theon, don't be an ass, you know why. We can't. Not here. My father has sent us, he... he bid us this task, and I know you want... I also want it, I swear, but we cannot. This is important. My lord father has placed his trust in me, in us. I know it may seem like nothing to you, but it's an honourable task, and I am proud to have been given such biddance and if you-"

"What are you talking about, Snow?" Theon interrupts him, sitting up. "That is nonsense. Your father has sent us on a nonexistent assignment, a make-believe task, and you act like you're on some holy quest."

Jon sits up as well and takes Theon's hand. "Like I said, I know it may seem like nothing to you, but what he assigned us to do is very important."

Theon scoffs. "As important as keeping us away while Lord Mallister is there, lest anyone might think Lady Stark's husband slights her with his bastard's presence."

Jon pales, getting serious, then blushes bright red, confusion in his eyes so quickly replaced by hurt. 

Theon bites his tongue, wishing his words unsaid. He looks at Jon, himself serious now too. "You didn't know?"

Jon seems to suddenly remember himself, face an icy mask, except for that pout, revealing how wounded he is even after his eyes turn cold. "I did. Of course I knew that."

"You're a horrible liar, Jon," Theon tells him, kinder than he ever thought possible. He reaches for Jon with his hand, but Jon pushes him away.

"Jon, come on. It's not... You know what she's like. And this _is_  important, what your father sent us to do. It's probably just a coincidence that it's at the same time as their visit." He touches Jon's curls, gently caressing, but Jon shakes his head angrily, his impatient moves betraying his pain. 

"Leave me alone, Theon. We should both get some sleep, long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

Jon turns around, lying down again, hiding beneath the covers, and Theon sits, naked and full of regret over his words. But Jon would have found out, sooner or later. It's better if he finds out here and now, than look a fool in front of everyone back at Winterfell upon their return. It's kinder this way. But still, Theon feels so bad for being the one to have shattered his illusion.

Theon lies next to him, carefully draping his arm over Jon's taut body. Jon doesn't react.

"Jon?" Theon whispers, rubbing his lips gently along Jon's neck, but Jon doesn't move. Theon's fingers dance up Jon's body, finding his cheek, where they softly try to turn Jon's head back.

Jon grabs his hand suddenly, turning around and, in a swift motion, getting on top of Theon. Where there was hurt in his eyes, now is rage.

"What do you want, Greyjoy?" he growls through clenched teeth.

Theon's heart starts beating faster to feel Jon's strained muscles over him and to hear that threateningly low voice, so full of anger, so full of promise. He writhes and stutters, "Uh, I.. I just-"

Jon's thigh gets between Theon's legs, spreading them, and he feels Jon press into him, breathing hard. "You just what? Want to be fucked?"

Of course Theon wanted to be fucked, but that was before Jon got all heartbroken, now he wanted to comfort him. However, Jon asking this right now, his usual shyness overcome by emotions, as he presses Theon firmer down, reminds Theon that yes, this is exactly what he wants.

Theon licks his lips. "Yes," he whispers quietly.

Jon nods and just stares at him for a long moment before he starts unlacing his breeches. His crotch is just above Theon's and Theon feels the laces whip and scratch the sensitive skin around his cock as Jon works them impatiently. Theon gasps, bringing his hand down to help Jon get his cock out, but Jon grabs Theon's wrist, twisting it cruelly to the side.

"Ahh, gods," Theon moans. "Yes."

"You said you wanted a cruel fuck." Jon pants, poking Theon with his cock, red and throbbing.

"Yes," Theon lets out a slight squeal.

"Said you wanted to be fucked into the dirt, like a cheap whore, until you cry for me to stop." Jon brings his hand to Theon's mouth and shoves his two fingers in. "Suck," he commands.

Theon's mouth is dry with arousal, but Jon works his fingers in and out, rough and unrelenting, and Theon starts salivating. He sucks and slurps, humming around Jon's fingers, lost in those wild grey eyes squinting at him menacingly.

Once Jon is satisfied with the amount of spittle on his fingers, he takes them out and issues another order, "Spread."

At first, just for a short second, Theon doesn't understand what he means, but then his cock jumps when the realization hits him. He grins, then gasps when Jon slaps his cheek.

It's not easy, with Jon on top of him, but Theon takes his asscheeks in his hands and pulls them apart, lifting his legs up slowly. When Jon's fingers enter him, he is still too dry and it hurts, so Theon whimpers slightly.

"Shut up," Jon tells him, and Theon does - this is exactly what he wanted, even better.

Jon's fingers spread him, scissoring and curling, and soon the pain is gone, there is just this raw need that makes Theon keen for more. Jon sits up between Theon's spread legs, lifting them further up, then leans down and spits on Theon's asshole.

Theon groans, delighting in the crude manner he's being treated, letting out a mewling sob when Jon enters him, pushing his cock deep inside.

Theon feels his insides burning under the force of this stretch, even more cruel than the fingers moments ago. He fears he might tear, but he can't worry about that now - this pain feels too good. The way Jon is claiming him, without even paying him a second thought, not caring if he's being too rough or how Theon might feel, this makes Theon cock leak.

When Jon is fully buried inside him, his balls pressed against his ass, Theon is breathless. Jon holds him so firmly pressed down, legs up in this impossibly vulnerable position - Theon couldn't move even if he wanted to.

Then Jon pulls out and slams back inside again, the force of his thrust pushing Theon across the floor. Jon fucks him like never before - hard and brutal, holding him down, ramming his cock inside with such anger Theon wonders if Jon's present there at all or if he's stabbing Catelyn Stark to death somewhere in his mind.

Theon tries to move, but all his strength has melted, his body turned to jelly, blissful in its suffering. Jon doesn't seem to like him moving, as he shifts slightly upwards, to pin Theon firmer down, but by doing so he alters the angle in which his cock is slamming in. That is not a new spot being touched, but it is a force yet unused. Theon almost loses his consciousness, spurting seed from his untouched cock, keening like a wild beast, then losing himself in a silent scream, mouth open wide but no voice coming out.

It is only when Theon goes limp, his eyes half-closed, that Jon comes, pushing in an erratic rhythm, then staying buried deep inside as he fills Theon's battered ass with come, a long low moan drawn out of him.

He falls on top of an exhausted Theon, breathing hard, then shifts them both a bit, getting more comfortable. And if Jon fucked him hard like never before, it is nothing compared to how hard he now holds Theon. Jon clings to him, kissing and sucking his lips, face, neck - Jon's mouth bites and presses not choosing its target.

When Theon has it in him to finally speak again, he fears the reaction his words might provoke, so he stays quiet. The only effort he makes is to kiss Jon back. They kiss and cuddle in silence, Jon still holding him so tight and not letting go.

Theon is not sure who is the first to fall asleep, but when he wakes up the next day, feeling sore, Jon is already up, out talking to the farmer, getting them ready to continue their ride.

Jon is considerate not to ride too fast, but Theon's soreness feels sweet, every bump igniting new fire in his loins - he spends the whole day half-hard. They hardly speak, Jon looking sullen and brooding, and Theon not wishing to annoy him. The evening at the next farm is uneventful, but once under their blankets, enveloped by the dark, Theon thinks he hears a sniffle. He moves closer to Jon, pulling him into an embrace, only slightly surprised Jon doesn't push him away but falls asleep in Theon's arms.

The next few days, Jon is more talkative, he doesn't seem sad anymore, and his disposition towards Theon is as sweet as ever. They laugh, joke and talk about all the unimportant things they can think of, without mentioning Winterfell or Lady Stark. They fuck again, several times, and Theon thinks Jon is even enjoying their endeavour, this charade of a task Eddard Stark sent them on.

When the time has come for them to return, Theon again worries Jon's mood might take a turn for the worse. But Jon seems unaffected. Once back at Winterfell, sitting at Lord Stark's solar, Theon sees Jon tense slightly. But he reports to his father without as much as a stutter. His tone is cold, expression on his face serious. He explains what they found at the farms, what the farmers say about their harvest predictions and what measures they've taken to prevent more damage should such calamity strike again. Theon notices that not once does Jon call Eddard Stark father. It's either Lord Stark, or my lord.

Lord Stark also looks uncomfortable. "Jon, Theon, thank you. This is a very good report, and I am proud you've done it so well, taking this task seriously." He clears his throat and adds, looking at Jon, "Well done, son."

Jon looks down. "My lord," he says evenly, but Theon sees his lips purse ever so slightly.

Once they are dismissed, Jon goes straight to his chamber, and Theon follows. But Jon sends him away, explaining he is tired. And he does look a wreck. Jon is kind and kisses Theon softly, apologizing, so Theon only bids him good night and leaves to his own bedchamber.

Theon requests a bath to be brought to him, then sits with a cup of spiced wine watching the steam, hot water evaporating in a warm soft mist. He takes off his clothes, grabbing the cloves-soap, but before he steps into the tub, he brings his fingers to his face, sniffing. He can still feel it - the smell of dirt, horses and hay. Theon couldn't wait to wash it off and sink in his soft feather bed, covered with crisp clean sheets. But now he hesitates for a moment, then turns away from the tub to climb in his bed unwashed, still dirty from the road. While the fragrant sheets and fancy soap might feel good, now he prefers to fall asleep smelling of hay, stables, and Jon.


	7. If My Man Was Fighting Some Unholy War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beheading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My never-ending gratitude to my lovely betas: my very special girl [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) , baby thank you not only for the beta but for existing in my life <3  
> and sweet wonderful [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) , I can never thank you enough, dear <3

The news of the deserter from the Night's Watch enwraps Winterfell in a gloomy solemn air. No one jokes, no one talks loudly; everyone suddenly gets busy, as if it will help stray their mind off the unpleasant task Lord Stark has to perform.

That day, Jon, Robb and Theon are in the training ground, helping Bran with his archery practice. Theon is showing off, of course, and Jon is torn between slapping the annoying bragger and admiring him for his skills. Because, for all his immodest boasting, there's no better archer than Theon Greyjoy.

When the news reaches them, they also get serious. Especially Bran, upon hearing he too is to go watch the beheading. Theon, however, doesn't seem affected. He spits on the ground disdainfully and continues with his usual smirking, looking all smug and full of himself. Seeing that makes Jon decide he actually does want to slap him. True, the man who will die is a deserter, and he knew what would befall him should he be caught. But still, someone is about to lose his life, and it'd be gracious if Theon would show some compassion. Or at least pretend that he does.

On the ride, Jon glares at him all the while. Theon doesn't shut up, as mouthy as ever, not minding in the least bit the way Robb is trying to distance himself from such unseemly talk. It is only when Lord Stark is near that Theon's behaviour changes. He still smirks, but is at least quiet, no doubt fearing reprimand for his insolence.

Jon stays with Bran. It's his brother's first time to witness the beheading, and Jon tries to reassure him. He remembers his own first time and how hard he tried to appear unafraid and dignified - both he and Robb did. They were only six. Father later spoke to them about justice and duty, saying he was proud of their conduct. Nonetheless, Jon had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Robb did too, and on the first night they sought comfort in each other's presence, afraid to sleep alone. But when Lady Stark learnt about that, Jon was sent back to his chamber, the coldness in her eyes biting so cruelly. She brought Robb warm milk and almond cake and sat with him until he fell asleep every evening for over a fortnight. Jon, however, was on his own - no warm milk, no almond cake and no gentle fingers caressing his hair, bringing a sweet dreamless slumber. 

Bran will have all that, but Jon still feels protective over his younger brother. Or maybe it helps him not to think of how disappointed and hurt he is by Theon's behaviour. Sure, Jon knew Theon was an ass ever since he met him, but lately he has let himself hope that he was mayhaps wrong, that Theon is much more than Jon ever gave him credit for. Clearly, the way Theon acts now shows Jon that he was a fool to doubt - Theon is the king of all asses, insensitive and rude.

Jon looks at him again, as Theon unsheathes Lord Stark's longsword, respectfully bowing down, offering Ice to his Lord Father. Lord Stark takes it and starts reciting the words, sentencing the deserter to die.

"Keep the pony well in hand", Jon tells Bran. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do."

Jon himself doesn't look away either. Except for a very short moment when his eyes dart to Theon again. That is the moment Lord Stark raises his sword, and Jon sees it, for the first time ever - the slightest flinch of terror on Theon's face before a smug smile quickly masks it again. Jon wonders how old Theon was the first time he witnessed such a scene and what kind of nightmares did he have - mayhaps still has - as Theon wasn't just a boy watching his lord father behead a deserter for his crime. No. Theon has always been watching his warden - his captor - and maybe seeing himself in the deserter's place, being beheaded over a crime that was not even his own, with a sword he himself has so meekly offered. Jon feels like a fool for not realizing it before. _Does_ _Father_ _have to make Theon handle his sword? Does he not see? Does no one see?_

When the head rolls over down to Theon's feet, Jon shivers slightly, thinking he's going to be sick. Theon kicks it, laughing.

Jon mutters, "Ass." But it's not condescending - he feels sympathy for Theon, and there's even a fondness in his tone that he cannot hide. Jon hopes Bran was too overwhelmed by the event he witnessed to notice it. 

Jon observes Theon carefully for the rest of the day; he even ignores his taunting over the direwolf pups they find. And though it is rather silly, Jon wishes there was a seventh pup, one that Theon could claim as his own. True, a direwolf has nothing to do with Greyjoys, being a Stark's sigil, but Jon is not a Stark either and he got one despite being only a Snow. That becomes yet another reason why he wishes to comfort Theon. Jon can't wait for the nightfall, and being busy, especially with his little albino pup, helps the time go faster. 

After dinner, Jon goes to Theon, bringing the white ball of fur with him. Ghost, as he named it, will be warm in Theon's chamber equally well, and Jon doesn't have to worry about leaving him behind, to wait alone in his room.  

The pup huddles close to the fire and falls asleep almost instantly. Jon walks over to the bed where Theon is sitting, leaning against the headboard. He is barefoot, clutching a pitcher. Obviously already quite drunk, Theon keeps spilling the wine all over his chest every time he draws a sip, his smooth skin wet, peeking through the unlaced shirt ruined by the red stains as the wine dribbles down his chin. When Theon looks up, Jon flinches involuntarily - he has never seen him this drunk.

Jon sits on the bed, unsure of what to say. But Theon doesn't mind his silence. He offers Jon the pitcher, and Jon takes a long draught before putting the wine on the table, away from Theon, who's clearly had enough.

Theon scoffs, but Jon pays him no mind.

"Theon, are you... um, are you well?"

Theon squints at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because of... of what my father had to do today?"

Theon chuckles, and it sounds so bitter it breaks Jon's heart. His speech is slightly slurred. "I have been a witness to your lord father's  _duty_  for years. Isn't it odd to so suddenly enquire about my wellbeing now?"

Jon again feels guilty for never caring enough before to see what now seems so obvious. "I am sorry," he mutters. "You shouldn't have been there, to see it. Not just today, but ever. It's cruel. I, um, I'm sorry."

Theon waves his hand dismissively, averting his gaze.

Jon tries to touch him, carefully extending his arm, as if approaching a wild dog that might tear it off. His fingers brush along Theon's chest, smooth and white, smudging some wine drops on their way to the neck. He feels Theon's pulse beating wildly and sees his throat move when Theon swallows. Those slight movements of Theon's body make Theon seem so vulnerable now. Jon caresses his neck, climbing further up on the bed, closer to him. He cups Theon's face in his palms, watching him gently.

Theon's eyes are half-closed, but when Jon comes down to kiss him, Theon opens them wide, pushing Jon's hands away. He allows a kiss, but it's rage and contempt that seems to be the force behind it. Jon doesn't falter, he yet again tries tenderness. Theon, however, is having none of that. He pushes Jon to the side, getting on top of him, the weight of his drunken body pressing Jon firmly down into the mattress. 

Theon bites Jon's lips, sucking on them hungrily, as his hand darts down, clumsily tugging on Jon's breeches. Jon moans, feeling himself hardening, but when his hand touches Theon's crotch, Theon pulls away. Jon's confusion lasts for only about a moment, before Theon turns him around, pinning him face-down to the bed.

"What would happen," Theon whispers through ragged breaths, "if I were to fuck you now?"

"Theon," Jon pants. He doesn't resist. He knows Theon won't do it. Those are but empty words. Theon is not even hard.

But Theon goes on, his hands groping Jon's buttocks, as he grinds against him. "Would your father have my head for this? If I fucked you now?"

Jon, however, is still hard, and he is not afraid of Theon's words, or his actions, no matter how rough, but Theon is drunk and this is not how it should be. "You're drunk. Let me go," Jon tells him, patient and calm, so pliable beneath Theon, his body surrendered to Theon's hostile touches.

"Would Lord Stark have just my head, or would he cut off my cock too if I shoved it up your ass?" Theon's hands are squeezing his ass and it hurts now as he's pulling at Jon's asscheeks so hard, spreading them open. But Jon stays still, whimpering faintly.

It is only when Jon feels a finger pressing against his opening that he tenses, blocking the way. Theon tries pushing firmer, but his drunken state makes him clumsy, and Jon clenches his ass tight, baring the rude finger from entering. Theon groans with frustration and smacks Jon's ass once, yanking him by the hair to whisper in his ear, "Would he hack off my head for having my cock in you?"

Jon squirms, trying to escape the assault of Theon's fingers again. "Theon, I am so sorry."

Theon shakes the fist that holds Jon's hair, yanking him roughly further up as he hisses through his clenched teeth, "Hack off my head-" but suddenly Theon sniffles, hiccupping softly.

His hold of Jon weakens and his body starts shaking with violent sobbing. Jon turns around to face him. He embraces Theon, kissing his cheeks gently, making small soothing sounds as he whispers, "Shh, no, he wouldn't. He wouldn't."

Jon feels it's important to reassure Theon, to make him believe that Lord Stark would  _not_  hack off his head. Even if Balon Greyjoy rebels. Theon was raised among the Stark children, just like Jon was. He was just a little boy when he was brought to Winterfell. Theon only serves to keep his father in check, but even if Balon Greyjoy would do something as stupid as to risk his only living son and heir's life, Lord Stark is good, he is just, he wouldn't do it. It wouldn't be Theon's fault, so he would be spared, for sure he would. Jon also wants so hard to believe in that now. He repeats, both to himself and to Theon, "Shh, no, he wouldn't. He wouldn't."

"You're right, he wouldn't," Theon says through his tears, slurring his words drunkenly. "He would do it for Robb, though. But not for you, you're just a bastard. Nobody cares about bastards. Or hostages." He buries his head to Jon's neck, his soft sniffles tickling Jon's skin.

Jon breathes hard. He wants to be mad at Theon, wants to strike him, or say something horrible. But he can't. Not only because Theon is drunk and hurt, but also because, deep down, Jon knows that what Theon said is true - he is just a bastard. An unwanted, disposable bastard that no one cares about. Winterfell has a place for him as much as it has for Theon. And while Jon may know no other, it will nonetheless never be a home.

He holds Theon tight, pulling furs over them. Jon feels closer to him than ever before. He cradles Theon in his arms, rocking slowly. Soon, Theon is asleep, an occasional sniffle still disturbing his steady breathing, and Jon still holds him, kissing the damp hair on Theon's forehead, as he watches the candles slowly burn out.


	8. Weak As I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon's morning after and surprises it brings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My undying gratitude to my lovely betas: wonderful [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) and sweet [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo)
> 
> And of course, my dear lovely readers, thank you so much for all the kind encouragement that means so much to me, never stop, I love you all <3

Theon wakes up with a dry mouth and a slight drumming inside his head that grows in intensity when he opens his eyes. He closes them again, groaning softly. He spends a long time like that, eyes shut, surrendered to the dull ache in his temples - a painful reminder of how much he drank the previous night.

After a while, thirst gets the best of him and he opens his eyes again, looking ahead. Theon feels Jon's body behind him, warm and heavy, one arm draped around his waist, Jon's steady breathing tickling the nape of his neck. Theon extends his arm carefully, trying not to move too much, and grabs hold of the water pitcher on his night desk. The mouthful he draws feels like heaven.

Although he tried to be as still as possible, Theon's movements make Jon stir. Theon hears a soft grunt, and then the arm that felt so warm on his skin is gone. Theon feels Jon shift behind him, and he, too, turns around.

It seems Jon is still sleeping, he just changed his position, and it is now Theon holding him from behind, pressing his lips to Jon's curls, as he moves even closer, feeling Jon's body so snug against his stomach. Also, Theon feels Jon's firm ass pressed against his crotch, and despite feeling weak from last night's wine, Theon feels the familiar heat burning in his groins.

Theon thinks about the day before, hoping his erection will subside if he keeps his mind busy with something other than Jon Snow's pert asscheeks, so tender and inviting. The fabric of both his and Jon's undershirt is the only thing between Theon's cock and Jon's smooth skin. Theon thinks about the beheading, and his headache intensifies, so his mind wanders to the direwolf pups they found. He looks around the room. The little white pup is sleeping by the hearth, Jon brought it with him last night.

Theon closes his eyes again, sighing.  _Last night. Gods._  He knows he was drunk, and the entire evening is a blur, but Theon is still aware of almost everything that happened. He might not remember every single word said, but he knows he tried to force himself on Jon, who was too kind to actually resist him much, not any more than what was absolutely necessary. Theon understands Jon came to him because he was concerned, because he cared. And that is a strange feeling - knowing that someone cares. Theon also remembers that Jon tried to comfort him, that Jon held him in his arms while Theon cried like a baby. It irritates him a bit that he showed himself to be so weak, but at the same time he feels strangely appeased, almost relieved with the knowledge that there is someone that he can be weak with, and not be judged, hated or scorned about it. If anything, Jon rewarded his weakness with gentle touches and sweet kisses, holding him throughout his weeping, until he fell asleep. Even this morning, when Theon woke up, Jon's arms were still around him, Theon firmly nestled in Jon's embrace.

Theon kisses his neck softly. But then his cock twitches again, and there's really not so much he can do about it. His arm slowly slides beneath Jon's nightshirt, fingers caressing Jon's stomach on their way further up, where he finds a nipple, tender and pert. Theon rubs it, his touch light as a feather, squeezing gently.

Jon stirs a bit, grunting weakly. He still isn't fully awake when Theon carefully turns him around, getting on top of him. Jon's eyes are closed still, but he smiles, his plump lips seeming even fuller, as if swollen from sleep. Jon's mouth is soft when Theon kisses him. It is a slow gentle kiss, the gentlest they ever shared.

When Theon's body presses down against Jon, there is hardness there to welcome the touch. Theon smiles too, still kissing Jon, fingers lost in the dark tangle of Jon's curls. He grinds his hips gingerly onto Jon's crotch, humming contently when he feels Jon spread his legs, squirming beneath him.

Theon knows Jon has never done this before, and knowing how prude he used to be, how reluctant and fearful he was at first of all the things they did, Theon expects him to back away any moment now. But Theon still bravely presses on, deciding to take his time, see how far Jon will let him go.

Jon is so compliant, letting Theon undress him, not once shying away from his touches, and while Theon may be taking things slow, he has already kissed his way down to the soft fuzz of hair on Jon's groin. Jon spreads his legs even wider, and Theon chuckles, lifting them up, exposing Jon's ass open to his attention.

Jon gasps at the first lick, but then he just moans as Theon's tongue laves up and down his cleft. Jon's little hole is so pretty, wrinkled and soft, and the helpless little sounds Jon makes as Theon gently pushes his tongue against it make Theon's cock strain painfully. Theon can't wait to fuck him. Still, he takes his time, knowing it's probably the first time Jon has ever been touched there, and Theon doesn't wish to hurt him or scare him off. He licks the tender flesh, slowly pushing his tongue against the folds, rubbing and sucking at the sides. Jon whimpers, squirming. Theon can see his cock is hard, quivering in response to this gentle tongue-fucking.

When Theon pushes the first finger in, Jon lets out a soft grunt. He feels tight and warm, and Theon licks and kisses the skin around his asshole, hoping his touch is not too rough and that his kisses are soothing enough. Jon doesn't complain or tell him to stop though, so after a while, when his finger starts sliding in and out easier, Theon pushes another one. That is a tighter fit, and Jon's moan is somewhat louder, but he is brave, letting Theon's fingers drill into him, keeping still.

Theon watches his knuckles disappear inside, then he curls his fingers slightly, trying to find that place he himself likes touched. When Jon sobs, hips jerking suddenly, Theon knows he found it. He chuckles, coming up to kiss Jon.

"I am gonna..." Theon takes a deep breath, licking his lips.

Jon nods. "I know."

Theon nods back at him. "So you- You want to?"

Jon smiles, looking a bit shy, and nods again.

Theon gives him another kiss. "It will hurt. At least a little," he whispers. "But I will- I will be gentle. And you tell me if... if you want me to stop."

Jon doesn't say a thing, he only smiles more, blushing. Theon sits up, looking at him from above. Again, awe and apprehension are all too obvious in Jon's gaze, but this time it is different. It's the first time Jon assumes this role, and that makes Theon very affectionate. He caresses Jon, spreading his legs a bit more, and positions himself better. Theon can see Jon swallows hard and blinks, exhaling, so Theon smiles to reassure him, coming down for a kiss. With one hand he guides his cock to Jon's asshole as he rests on his other palm, rubbing his nose against Jon's gently. Jon's eyes are wet but smiling, glazed with lust and longing. Theon tries not to break their gaze when he enters him, wanting to see all that goes on in those dark grey eyes. Jon keeps looking at him, probably seeking comfort.

When Theon starts pushing, he sees Jon gritting his teeth, but his body is pliant enough. It takes a lot to breach him, even with the oil he takes from his night desk drawer, Jon is so tight. And Theon wants to just slam inside already, but he goes slow, patient to no end, while Jon keeps his lips pursed tight, frowning in discomfort.

"It's good," Theon whispers. "Just breathe. And relax. You're doing well."

Jon stifles a chuckle, nodding. But he does try to breathe normally and his hands wrap around Theon as he tilts his head up, looking for a kiss.

When Theon is fully inside, buried to the hilt in that tight warm bliss, he smiles through his kisses, whispering, "Can you take it?"

"Yes," Jon answers, with some endearing frailness in his voice. "Please," he adds. "Don't stop."

Theon starts moving. First he just shifts a little, observing Jon's reactions. Encouraged by Jon's moans and, even more so, Jon's hands groping his buttocks, Theon starts sliding out, then back in again. Deep long thrusts, the rhythm sensual and slow. Soon, Jon's body seems to have adjusted and Jon feels more relaxed, so Theon's movements become bolder, he has less reservations as he fucks Jon's ass faster now, but still not as hard as he'd want. Theon stares at Jon, looking for guidance. There, he sees when to slow down, when to stop moving altogether and when to go harder, deeper. But Theon is so tender all the time - he fondles Jon, caressing his cheeks, kissing him softly, never breaking eye contact, as Jon moans beneath him, so sweet and surrendered.

Theon's gentle affection is not only due to the fact that it is Jon's first time to be so invaded. True, there were others Theon has deflowered, girls namely, and while it might be somewhat different, pain is pain. He observes Jon intently, searching for the slightest sign of discomfort and quickly slowing down if he just as much senses Jon feeling anything other than pure pleasure, soothing him with kisses and low hums. Yet what makes Theon be so loving, wanting Jon to enjoy every moment of this, is not that it is Jon's first time, but the fact it's Theon's own first time to actually fuck someone he cares about, and who in turn cares about him. All those previous times Theon tried to be good at it, to show his worth, show off his skill, all of that was just his vanity, making sure they all remembered Theon Greyjoy as the best fuck of their lives. Now, with Jon, it's different. He gives his best, but not out of being vain or wanting to boast. He does it because he wants to please Jon, for no other reason than making Jon happy, making him feel good. All this, all that Theon does, is just to show Jon how much he cares. Theon himself is not important, only Jon matters in these moments, as Theon thrusts slowly, angling to find that sweet spot.

He wraps his hand around Jon's cock and starts stroking. Jon is still hard and he starts moaning louder, then bites his lips trying to keep silent. Theon smiles, kissing him, letting Jon's moans fill his mouth.

Theon lifts Jon's legs higher up, shifting some more, going in deep and slow, and when Jon's mouth opens wide, as he whimpers helplessly, Theon knows that's where he should be pushing. So he rolls his hips into Jon, pressing against that spot, teasing Jon's cock with his hand at the same time, as Jon blinks rapidly and lets out such desperate little sounds, keening to what Theon's doing to him.

Theon squeezes Jon's cock harder, pulling the skin up and down, his thrusts now more determined, more focused. He presses and pushes and snaps, making Jon wail into his kisses, louder and louder, until Theon feels Jon shudder, his asshole clenching around Theon's cock, as the milky seed spurts over Theon's hand and their stomachs.

Jon's asshole still clenches, and Theon spends too, filling Jon with his seed, as he takes his sticky hand to his mouth to lick it clean. The taste of Jon only adds to his pleasure. Theon heaves on top of him, closing his eyes now, rubbing his face against Jon's. Then they stay quiet for a long time, holding each other.

When they get up and busy themselves around Theon's chamber, getting dressed, Jon doesn't mention the previous night. He just smiles sheepishly whenever their eyes meet, and then Theon has to kiss him. It takes them a while to make themselves presentable. While no one will mind them missing breakfast, they will be in trouble if they're late for their class with Maester Luwin.

Before they're out the door, Theon pulls Jon to him again, kissing him hungrily, as if they haven't just spent the entire night sharing warm embraces. Jon chuckles, pressed against the wall, his lips tasting so sweet Theon can hardly break the kiss.

"Are you well?" Theon asks. "Feeling sore?"

Jon's lips part into a wide smile. "A little," he confesses. "But I am well. You were, um-" Jon chuckles again. "You were gentle," he says blushing.

Theon grins somewhat smugly. "Aye, I said I would be."

Jon looks up at him, and this time his eyes are smiling too. Theon holds him so tight, not wishing to let go. But they must head for their class. Jon goes first, not to raise any suspicion, leaving Theon to wait in his chamber for some time. When he gets to the Maester's study, the old man is already there, about to start his lecture. Theon sits in his place, feeling Jon's smiling eyes on him often throughout their lesson. The morning sun rays that fall on them through the window warm his body, but it is the warmth of Jon's gaze that melts Theon's heart.

When they go to have lunch, Theon even hums some melody to himself, feeling strangely fresh, as Robb jokes about something with Jon. Jon scoffs at something Robb said - Robb's teasing him about the girl again, Theon can see Jon blushing. Theon only sort of half-listens, lost in thoughts of this morning's caresses.

Robb's next words bring him cruelly back. "Does your girl know you're leaving? Have you told her yet you picked the cold icy Wall over her warm bosom?"

Theon almost spills the water he's drinking. "What?" he coughs out.

  
"Did you not know?" Robb asks. "Jon will go join the Night's Watch, become a black brother."

Jon's face turns red again. Theon stares, confused. He thinks he heard wrong.

"No, he won't. What kind of stupid joke is that?" Theon asks, not entirely sure who.

Jon is quiet, looking down at his plate, but Robb speaks cheerfully, "Everything's a joke to you, Theon. But he's really leaving. He spoke to Father and all is set. He will be a great ranger, like uncle Benjen, guarding the realm. He will leave for Castle Black in a fortnight. After the royal visit."

Theon opens his mouth again, but no words come out. He just gapes, incredulous and silent. He feels cold suddenly - the warm feeling he had the whole morning leaves him and his head starts drumming again. Jon looks at him, eyes no longer smiling, then licks his lips and lowers his gaze.

"Is this true, Snow?" Theon finally asks, squinting at Jon.

Jon lifts his head, as if to look at him, but he cannot meet Theon's gaze. He nods. "Yes," he whispers, voice hoarse and weak. "It's true."

Robb goes on talking about Jon being a ranger, fighting wildlings, becoming a great hero, but all the words seem distorted by the drumming in Theon's temples. His head feels heavy, all the wine from the previous night now making him sick. Jon lifts his eyes again, his look is pleading and he seems sorry, but Theon can't stand looking at him right now. He stands up, willing his legs not to tremble.

"I, um, I am gonna go for a piss. And then rest a bit. I had too much to drink last night." Theon says, turning to leave.

He knows Jon won't call after him, not now, not in front of Robb, yet he seems to linger, walking way too slow, then pausing again at the door and hating himself for it. When he stumbles out of the dining hall, Theon leans against the wall, taking deep breaths. He curses himself for being stupid. The thought of the whole gentle morning with Jon now hurts him more than the memory of the beheading. What a fool he was. He closes his eyes with irritation, trying to calm down before he heads for his room, when he feels a soft nudge at his foot. He looks down and sees a white furry pup nuzzle at his boots before it lifts its head and looks at Theon with clever red eyes. Theon pushes it away with his leg, and rushes up the stairs, his eyes filled with tears.


	9. There Is No Other Troy For Me To Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to explain his reasons, but some things are not so easily said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My never-ending gratitude to my beloved betas [Heloisa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Heloisa/pseuds/Heloisa) and [buetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo)
> 
> Also, thanks everyone leaving kudos and comments and giving this fic love, you people are the best <3

Jon couldn't have gone after Theon that day. He wishes he could have, though. He feels as if he has somehow mislead Theon, tricked him, or used him even. But he then remembers that Theon was always the one who initiated everything that happened between them. Jon didn't do anything but follow.

That's what he keeps telling himself. It's nothing. He owes Theon nothing. Anyway, though, he regrets not telling that news to Theon himself. But Jon couldn't have known that Robb was going to say that then, during their meal. And any situation before that, well, none felt right. His mind keeps repeating that, but, deep down, his heart whispers  _coward_.

Theon ignores him after that day completely, as if Jon doesn't exist. Jon decides not to pursue him, despite yearning for him every night so hard that he paces around his chamber, irritable and restless, like a beast in a cage. Jon knows it's best to give Theon time, hoping that after a couple of days he will come to his senses and give Jon a glance, a half-smile, any sign that would mean he understands and has forgiven being left in the dark.

However, after almost ten days, his departure approaching quickly, Jon realizes that Theon is stubborn and proud, and that time is a luxury they no longer have. He sets his mind on going to Theon after the castle is asleep. He would hate leaving for the Wall without at least a decent good-bye. Theon will have to listen to his reasons and then he might understand, Jon thinks.

Winterfell is a busy place these days. The royal visit has brought such disarray, with so many people swarming about the castlehe feels he cannot take a single step without bumping into someone. And then there is Bran. It hurts Jon to think about his brother, lying helpless, asleep after the horrible fall he suffered, and it makes him feel guilty his poor little brother is not the first thing on his mind. Lord Stark is preparing for his own trip down to King's Landing and, amidst all the commotion, Jon is left alone much these days, and it doesn't surprise him that so is Theon. But unlike Theon, who seems to thrive on the hassle and bustle the king and his court have brought to Winterfell, Jon's interest in the southerners faded quickly and he is trying to escape the crowds whenever he can, like now, sitting alone in the godswood, planning what to say to Theon when he looks for him that night, acting out their conversation in his head.

He only hears the footsteps when the leaves right next to him rustle. Surprised, Jon clears his throat, lifting his gaze. Theon stands next to him, seriousness in his face making his elegant cheekbones even sharper.

"Theon," Jon mutters, surprised to see him there.

"Snow." Theon's tone is cold, with a trace of contempt Jon cannot fail to notice, but decides to ignore nonetheless.

"I actually thought to talk to you tonight," Jon says, standing up.

"Talk," Theon scoffs. "As if there ever was need for that."

Jon wishes to tell him to shut up, not to say such things, that it's not true, that they have said many a sweet word and meant every single one of them. But the way Theon stares at him, anger seeping through the cold mask that is his face, makes Jon remain silent.

They look at each other, both of them tense, only their eyes sparkling in early dusk shadows. Jon bites on his lower lip nervously and in just a second Theon is on him, kissing, biting, groping, as he slams Jon against the heart tree.

"Someone might come," Jon says, moaning. But he knows that is unlikely, dinner is just about to be served and everyone is busy with one thing or another. The godswood is all but deserted.

Theon doesn't answer him, only starts unlacing Jon's shirt, looking for his nipples and pinching them viciously, making Jon gasp. Theon's rough fondling excites him, but it also makes him annoyed. Theon cannot behave like that just because Jon is leaving. He grabs Theon's wrists, turning around swiftly, so that it is Theon now against the tree, before their lewd wrestling brings them down to the ground.

Jon is not sure if it's the wind or their bodies disturbing the leaves around them, and even though they're alone it'd still be better not to make much noise, so Jon calms down, letting Theon overpower him. Theon sits on top of him, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring, as he undoes Jon's breeches.

Jon wishes they talked, but there's no denying he's hard. Rock hard. And that is the power Theon will always have over him.

Once Jon's cock is out, Theon works the laces of his own breeches, then pulls them down just one leg, over his boot, so that he can straddle Jon better. Jon doesn't move, he lets Theon do what he wants, thinking that afterwards he might be in a better mood and they will talk. Also, he thinks, this might be the last time they're doing this, better not make a fight out of it. If he is complacent and placid, Theon will become sweeter - he always has in the past - and this last encounter will become gentler, more honest, more loving. That is how Jon would like to remember it.

But Theon is still angry, his caresses are more blows and pinches, making Jon hiss and grunt, and when Theon shifts a bit, spitting on Jon's cock, that seems so rude and somehow violent, and yet it arouses Jon beyond belief - his cock jumps, its tip already starting to glisten.

Theon sits on him, going down slowly, all the while glaring at Jon, his blue eyes full of rage. Theon at first doesn't move too fast, but soon enough his body has adjusted and he starts riding Jon for real, coming down on his cock so forcefully Jon gets breathless every time Theon slams down. 

Jon reaches for Theon's chest, but Theon shoves his hands away. Next time Jon tries to do it, Theon grabs hold of his wrists and pins them up above Jon's head, against the tree bunk.

"Don't you fucking touch me," he barks.

"Theon," Jon tries.

"Shut up. I'm not here to talk, I told you." Theon squints at him and, despite his words, does just what he said he doesn't want to - he talks. "How dare you touch me? How dare you talk to me after what you've done?"

"I haven't done anything, Theon, don't be ridiculous." Jon bucks his hips upwards, their bodies cooperating so perfectly. "Come, be nice, and we will talk later."

But Theon won't have it. He slams down, hard and deliberate, still holding Jon by the wrists. "I don't care about talk. I have come now just to claim the only thing I want from you."

Jon is getting annoyed again, but Theon feels so good on top of him, rocking back and forth, rolling his hips, grinding so angrily, and Jon says nothing, sensing his own rage waking up, and yet letting Theon continue.

" _This_  is the only thing I have ever wanted from you, and it is my right to have it one last time," Theon snarls, impaling himself ever harder on Jon's cock."So when you go to that icy hell up north, every single time you harden, whenever you decide to toss yourself off in the night, always remember, this cock was mine first, it is  _my_  cock you're touching, it is  _my_  ass you dream of filling,  _my_  lips you crave around it. And you should consider yourself lucky I didn't care enough to fucking  _cut it off_  and keep it with me, you damned pouty bast--"

Jon slaps Theon's cheek so hard it stuns Theon completely. He stops talking, suddenly still on top of Jon, mouth open in surprise. Jon bucks his hips violently up, throwing Theon off of him.

"Little shit," Theon swears after he's collected himself. But before he can stand up, Jon jumps on him, mad with rage.

"Shut up already," Jon snaps at Theon, planting his knee between Theon's thighs. He is too strong for Theon to push him away, but Theon squirms vigorously beneath him and it's a struggle to keep him subdued.

Nonetheless, Jon holds him down, and all the struggling only manages to result in Theon turning face-down, Jon now pressing against his back, his cock rubbing against Theon's naked buttocks, the act so reminiscent of their first touches that night months ago. Jon was so inexperienced then, he only rutted against Theon's firm ass, not knowing what to do. But that was before, now he knows all too well. He has one arm between Theon's shoulderblades, pinning him down, while the other one lifts Theon's hips slightly, before he rams his cock back inside Theon's ass.

Theon moans, long and deep, but before he can start speaking again, Jon places his hand over Theon's mouth. Jon slams into him, hard and good, his whisper now an angry snarl in Theon's ear, "Be quiet, Theon. I swear to gods, I have had enough of your big mouth and your nasty words."

Jon's forceful thrusts give rhythm to his words, and Theon doesn't squirm anymore, but only grunts every time Jon buries himself inside his ass.

Encouraged by Theon'sapparent submission, Jon goes on, fucking and talking. "Is this what you always wanted? The only thing you ever wanted from me? Is it? Well, I'm gonna give it to you now, I will fuck you so hard you'll be sore for the whole god damned winter after I'm gone."

Theon whimpers hearing that, and Jon grabs his jaw harder, still spitting angry words at him, "And you always remember, it is  _my_  cock that you wish for, and only  _my_ cock that can fuck you how you need to be fucked. No wonder you will miss it."

Theon opens his mouth, letting Jon's fingers in. He starts sucking them, slurping and humming as Jon, although surprised by Theon's reaction, still rams his cock inside him, the forceful moves of his hips snapping loudly.

Jon is quiet for a few moments, but then he speaks again, though less harsh this time, "Is it really--" He pauses, swallowing hard, before he finishes his question, "Is my cock really the only thing you will miss when I leave?"

Theon doesn't say a thing, he only moans, still sucking Jon's fingers, and Jon again feels hurt and angry, provoked by this cruel silence.

"So be it," Jon growls, slamming back inside, as he starts to fuck Theon viciously hard, now he himself also quiet, except for the grunts of effort he is making with each violent thrust.

Theon is the first one to spend. Jon can feel him shudder beneath him, his asshole clenching, while he wails into Jon's fingers and Jon's palm. Jon speeds up, the tight strong muscle of Theon's asshole pushing him over the edge, as he closes his eyes and groans, jerking slightly, filling Theon's ass with his seed.

Jon takes a moment to regain his breath, then carefully slides off of Theon and sits up, leaning against the heart tree.

Theon is still on the ground, his lean tall figure heaving, then he gives a little cough, turning around.

Jon looks at him for a second, before he gets busy with his breeches, so busy he can't even look at Theon.

"Don't be fucking stupid," Theon tells him.

But Jon is still feeling hurt, so he keeps quiet, looking away.

"Of course it's not just your cock," Theon mumbles a very late reply to Jon's question, sitting up, his clothes a mess, red leaves of the heart tree adorning his ruffled up hair. "Why didn't you tell me? Why are you leaving? What in the seven hells is wrong with you?" Theon's tone is still outraged, but Jon detects the care and fondness his questions carry.

Jon turns his head to look at him. "I have to go, Theon. I have no place here."

"You don't  _have to_  go, Jon. You only say that to yourself. You made it up."

Jon shakes his head, repeating, "I have to go. Of all the people I thought you'd be the first to understand."

Theon scoffs. "I guess that's why I was the first to find out."

Jon blushes, again feeling guilty. "I'm sorry. I should've told you myself. I didn't know Robb was going to-- I was waiting for the right moment."

"The right moment? Like me having your cock up my ass? Or maybe the other way around?"

"Stop it, please. I really... I wanted to tell you. I would have told you... Robb shouldn't have. I'm sorry." Jon places his hand on Theon's still naked thigh, feeling so warm under his touch. "But I can't stay here, this will never be my home, you know that."

Theon's lips are pursed, but he doesn't shy away from Jon's touches. "This will always be your home. It will never be mine, and yet I stay."

"That's different, Theon, you can't leave, you're a--" Jon stops abruptly and licks his lips. "After my father leaves, I will have no place here, and you know why."

Theon nods. "After your father leaves, Robb will be here, in his stead. Why is your place not by your brother? She cannot chase you away. Robb would never allow it."

Jon sighs. "Here I will always be just a bastard."

"You will always be a bastard no matter where you go, Jon. The Wall won't change that."

"Aye. But it will give me a chance to make a name for myself, be something more than  _just_  a bastard." Jon removes a leaf from Theon's hair, caressing him gently. "I'm sorry. I cannot stay. I wish I could."

Theon suddenly starts putting his pants back in order. "So that's it? Nothing will make you change your mind?"

Jon nods, sighing. "I'm sorry."

Theon shakes Jon's hands away from him, standing up, and starts lacing up his breeches. "You're a coward, Snow, and a stupid one as well."

He turns to leave and Jon gets up too, calling after him, "Theon, wait."

He thinks he should admit that other reason for his decision to leave, but that feels too shameful to be spoken. He thinks about what he's done to Theon, what he's been doing to  him for so long now - fucking him, like he would a woman, submitting him to such abominable acts, dishonouring him. The guilt he feels over it is overwhelming. Theon will one day rule the Iron Islands, he will marry a highborn lady. This has to stop. And better it stops before someone finds out. Jon shivers just to think about what could happen then.  


But when Theon stops to look at him, an eyebrow raised in an expectant manner, Jon suddenly doesn't know what to say anymore, or how to say it. He already said he's sorry. Many times. They look at each other in silence for a few moments, before Jon outstretches his arm, holding Theon's cape. "You... You forgot your cloak."

Theon swallows hard, squinting at him, so full of a quiet rage that Jon feels frightened. "You keep it, bastard. It's cold at the Wall, you might need it. It's got your stupid seed all over it anyway."

With that, Theon walks away, leaving Jon to slump back down against the heart tree, the silent witness to their violent good-bye. He tries to take deep slow breaths, but his heart beats so fast and he feels almost dizzy, sitting alone, clutching Theon's cloak. It's only when he brings it to his face and inhales the familiar scent that his eyes fill with tears.


	10. Then The Night Would Give You Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he loved you, he would stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, and I wish to thank everyone who has left comments and kudos - they mean the world to me and please never stop <3
> 
> I have indeed been blessed - two of the AO3's best authors did beta for this chapter. My dear sweet [Rovardotter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rovardotter/pseuds/Rovardotter) and equally dear and sweet [bluetilo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo) , thank you so much, not just for the beta and your kind help with this fic, but also for being such wonderful friends <333

Theon tries not to care, not to think about it. He forces himself to forget about Snow and his ridiculous decision. More importantly, he forces himself to forget how good the times they've been together felt. He really tries, but Snow's hard cock and soft lips won't leave his mind.

It is annoying, this feeling of not being in control of his own emotions, of his own thoughts. So Theon keeps himself busy. In the swirl of the next few days, he succeeds to occupy himself - the southerners, Robb, whores and wenches and Theon drinks and fucks the time away, trying to dull that sharp loss of breath which hits him every time he sees Snow skulking around the castle, all solemn and sulky.

He keeps it all inside, cursing the bastard when the ache gets too strong. He is again only a Snow to Theon.The intimacy that the first name carries - Theon can no longer consider that.

Snow had given him space at first, then a good hard fuck later. He'd offered Theon some poor excuses and pathetic apologies. He blushed, enduring Theon's cruel words, but stubbornly stood his ground - he was leaving, and there wasn't a thing Theon could do to stop him.

_If he loved you, he would stay._

Theon has never felt this powerless, and he's never hated himself more than when such thoughts creep into this carefully constructed mess of women's bodies, lewd stories and wine flagons that his days have become.

He avoids every chance of running into Snow. After Bran's fall, Maester Luwin is at his bedside with Lady Stark most times, so their classes are on a break, and with Lord Stark leaving south quite soon, even their sword practice is not what it used to be - Ser Rodrik is busy, they're left on their own, and Theon doesn't even bother showing up. At every supper he feels relieved, thinking it's good Snow must sit at the lower benches and therefore far away from him. But then he remembers the sad, rough loving he suffered so gladly back at that farm, when he comforted Snow with soft tender kisses, and guilt gnaws again at him.

"I have to go, Theon. I have no place here," Snow had said, and Theon tried to convince him otherwise. But hasn't the royal visit shown, even more clearly, more cruelly, that Snow's words were true? As he sits brooding at the lower benches, dark and silent, Snow really does look out of place - an outcast, an unwanted barely tolerated presence. Then again, isn't Theon just the same? And yet he will stay, just as lonely, just as unwanted, abandoned by the only accomplice he had found, the only one who truly ever understood his position.

Because yes, Snow's resolve to spend - no, to _waste_ his life away with scoundrels, thieves and rapists in a harsh eternal cold, well, he might say it is his decision, but Theon knows better. That decision has already been made for him, by years of silent but obvious contempt. He'd been drilled and carefully moulded into thinking his place was anywhere but in Winterfell. Theon again remembers the hurt look in Snow's eyes, the single soft sniffle he'd allowed himself, lying hidden in Theon's arms in the dark warm barn. Theon held him, showing him that he's wanted, needed, loved. Now his selfish, hateful thoughts align him with those responsible for Snow's choice. _You've always been a prick, Theon. No wonder he won't stay for you._

Then a wave of self-pity washes over him and he excuses himself from the great hall, choosing to be alone with his weakness.

Theon gets so drunk that night. He goes to a brothel at Winter Town and the pretty boy whore's stealth sign to follow him outside irritates Theon so much that he ends up shouting and flipping his table over, breaking some pots and scaring a few whores as well. He passes out in the gutter after he's been thrown out. Only in the early morning, the Imp returns him to Winterfell, on his own way back from the brothel.

The hangover is the worst he's ever had, but he braves it out without any draught to relieve his pain. Snow is leaving the next day and Theon thinks it's for the better if he stays in his room, safely locked away from any possibility he might run into him.

In the late afternoon, however, Theon's headache is better, and he feels rested and no longer bothered by the sounds from the yard below. It used to be the time for sword practice, but he's in his bed now and just Snow's and Robb's swords are clanking. He hears laughter too, but it's only Robb's, and something tightens inside his chest.

Theon gets up and leans over his window. He sees the brothers down in the yard, sweaty after the practice, Robb patting Snow's shoulder and a hint of a rueful smile on the bastard's lips as he says, "No, you're probably expected at supper, so off you go. I'll take the swords back to armoury."

Robb mutters something about the Lannisters, his tone too low for Theon to hear, but brothers both chuckle before Robb asks again, "Are you sure?"

Snow nods and just as Robb turns to leave, Theon dashes out of his chamber and runs down the stairs. In a few quick strides he's across the yard and in front of the armoury door. He pauses before entering, realising he hasn't even washed his face and that he must look horrible after half a night spent drinking and the other half spent in the gutter. He curses his defeated laziness, wishing he had at least combed his hair or changed his clothes. But Snow is leaving in the morning and there's no time.

Theon opens the door, slowly stepping inside. He sees Snow standing close to the wall on his left, not really doing anything, just watching ahead, quiet and pensive. He must be too lost in his own thoughts, as he doesn't even notice Theon before he's is a single step away. Theon clears his throat and Snow all but jumps with surprise.

He places a hand on his chest and offers a shy smile, shaking his head. "You gave me a fright, Theon. I didn't hear you come in."

Theon tries smiling back at him, but he feels his face form more of a distorted mask than the warm smile he's hoped to give. Theon licks his lips. "Some ranger you'll be. Jumping like that."

He didn't mean it to sound nasty, but Jon drops his gaze.

"I, um, I didn't mean--"

"I know," Jon interrupts, looking up again. And now his face mirrors Theon's own sour grimace trying so hard to pass for a smile.

They stand in silence for a few moments, scowling at each other like that.

"You're leaving then," Theon finally speaks.

"Aye," Jon confirms. "On the morrow."

And then they are silent again for an uncomfortably long moment. They both look around the armoury, and a dark corner, furthest from the door, brings back memories that disarm Theon completely, making him speak, as honest as ever, "I wish I could tie you to that hook until Benjen's safely gone."

Jon snorts. "Better not. Remember what Father did to me that time."

"I'd take a thousand whippings, and gladly, if it meant you would stay."

Theon's words make Jon serious again. "Theon," he whispers, shaking his head, mouth still open but not saying anything else.

Theon takes that one step that's been dividing them, feeling Jon's warm breath at his neck now, but he doesn't dare touch him yet. "Jon," he says. "I really would. And not only that."

"Don't say that, please." Jon looks down, but Theon reaches for his chin, lifting his head up. He sees Jon's eyes are wet, and Theon bows his head a bit more, kissing Jon softly on the mouth. Only their lips touch, and when Theon opens his eyes again, he sees one tear coming down Jon's cheek. Jon quickly wipes it away.

"Please, stay," Theon pleads.

Jon looks ready to cry but he blinks the tears away. "Theon," he mutters a plea of his own.

But it's too late, Theon is kissing him again, his lips, his cheeks, his neck, sucking and biting, whispering _stay_ into Jon's milky white skin. Jon's body is pliant, he gives in to kisses, caressing Theon as he repeats his name over and over again. A prayer, an order, a plea - every whispered _Theon_ , weak or passionate, desperate or hungry, they all speak so much, but none of it Theon wants to hear.

Theon squeezes Jon's shoulders, the accusation in his tone so hard to hide, "Why can't you stay? I'd stay for you."

"I'm _leaving_ for you," Jon blurts out.

"What?" Theon frowns.

Jon looks weary, but he repeats quietly, "I'm- I'm leaving for you."

The expectant look he gives Theon cuts him like a knife. But Theon is as angry as he is surprised.

"What in the seven hells do you mean by that?" he asks, his tone low and calm yet dripping with pure poison.

"I'm sorry," Jon apologises once more, probably the thousandth time already.

Theon snaps at him, "I don't need your apology, Snow, I asked for an explanation. Not even you are dumb enough not to know the difference."

"Theon." Jon again tries.

"An _explanation_ , Snow," Theon demands.

Jon licks his lips before nodding. He leans against the work bench, tugging at some threads on his doublet. "This is wrong, Theon, what we're doing."

Theon sighs with annoyance. He can't believe Snow will again tell the same story about dishonouring him, but he lets him continue.

"And, Theon, what you're- well, it doesn't matter that much that I'm like that. I'm just a bastard. But you are highborn, you are the heir to the Iron Islands. You will rule one day, be a great lord. You should marry a highborn lady, from a noble old family, someone like Sansa, or another girl, even the princess. And I have brought you down, so low... You don't need this. You don't need me. I shouldn't stand in your way."

This stuns Theon into silence. He wishes he could be angry. But he only feels sad. He approaches the bench Jon is leaning on and looks at him. Jon looks down to the ground, but he raises his eyes every now and then to Theon's face, as if frightened. Theon's mind fills with curses and nasty things he could say, but the apprehension in Jon's lowered gaze softens him, so he swallows them all. His tone is soft and patient when he finally speaks, "You know, Jon, I should slap you now for throwing the responsibility for your decision on me. I want nothing to do with it. Don't condemn yourself to a lifetime of winter on my account."

He hears again that soft sniffle, and he pulls Jon to his embrace. Jon only resists for a moment before burying his face in Theon's neck. He doesn't cry, but Theon feels him shudder slightly.

"I might stay a hostage here for a long time, Jon. And I am not stupid. I know I am expected to wed and rule the Iron Islands after my father. But I don't see why that would make a difference for us. The king fucks whomever he wants, despite being married. I for sure won't be that obvious with you, but I don't want to give you up just because I must one day marry and continue the Greyjoy line."

"You make it all seem so simple."

"Because it is simple, Jon. You either want to stay or you don't."

"I do," Jon mutters, "but I can't."

"Oh bugger that," Theon snaps again. "We've been through this, Jon. You say you're leaving for me, and I say don't. What I want - what I need - is you to _stay_ for me. Not for Robb, not for anybody. He will manage, they will all manage. But I can't. I can't be that lonely again. Not now when I know how it feels... how you feel... with me." Theon drops down to his knees. "Please stay."

He's never begged anyone for anything before. But his pride doesn't matter now. "Please," he repeats, looking straight at Jon.

Jon blinks a few times, still chewing on his lip, then sinks down to kneel next to him. That encourages Theon, and he whispers, "I love you." And once more, faintly, "Please."

And Jon doesn't say a thing. He only breathes slowly, staring ahead, nowhere in particular. Theon thinks he might not have heard him. It really was only a whisper. He should say it again, make sure Jon knows it. Even if it doesn't make him stay, it might still be a comfort warm enough in the long cold nights at the Wall, though Theon's eyes fill with tears when he thinks about that. He swallows hard, and just as he opens his mouth again, Jon raises his head and looks him straight into the eyes.

Theon feels like there's no need to ever speak again - Jon knows it all, even if he might have not heard Theon's words. Stripped naked under Jon's gaze, Theon stays silent.

Suddenly, Jon nods. At first, Theon thinks he must be imagining, seeing it because he wishes to see it, but then Jon nods again, more certain this time, pulling them both down to the ground.

In the dark, they hold each other, and their lips are already sore from kissing when Theon releases his hold of Jon and pulls back. "Will you be jealous of my lady wife?" Theon asks smiling, his head tilted.

Jon laughs out loud. "Shut up, Theon." And only after they have laughed their lungs out, Theon lets all of his kept tears fall.


End file.
